Клод Маккей (Claude McKay)

Tormented

I will not reason, wrestle here with you, 
Though you pursue and worry me about; 
As well put forth my swarthy arm to stop 
The wild wind howling, darkly mad without. 

The night is yours for revels; day will light. 
I will not fight you, bold and tigerish, 
For I am weak, while you are gaining strength; 
Peace! cease tormenting me to have your wish. 

But when you’re filled and sated with the flesh, 
I shall go swiftly to the silver stream, 
To cleanse my body for the spirit’s sake, 
And sun my limbs, and close my eyes to dream.

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