we shall make a special presentation in this chapter.
An artistic and restrained expression of the protest against irrational color prejudice, in the plaintive, pathetic key, is found in the following free-verse poem by Winston Allen:
THE BLACK VIOLINIST
I touched the violin,
I, whose hand was black,
I touched the violin
In a grand salon.
I touched the violin
In a Russian palace.
I touched the violin
And the dream-born strains
Chanted by the Congo
Soared to Heaven’s chambers.
Could I touch the violin?
I, whose hand was black?
And bring to life dream music?
Men had taunted me,
Age-worn months: their jeers
Snapped to bits my heartstrings,
Snapped my inner soul;
And the sting of living
Tortured me the livelong day.
Sometimes the protest runs in a lighter vein—as thus, in verses entitled:
