The Weary Blues

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard a Negro play.

Down on Lenox Avenue one night By a pale gold watchman swinging slow His piano moaned with a melancholic tone.

I heard a Negro play.

With a weary blues.

I and the Negro played By the pale gold moon hanging low In a sleepy, heavy southern land, A land of moans and blues.

Hear me, Tell me, listen to me, Feel my blues, let me be with you in the dark.

The people flocked to hear his song, For once they heard they couldn’t stay away. In the night— a southern night, Only the twilight brushed the prairies and swamps,

The city bore them, loved them, And rocked him, still he moaned. Forward, backward, the blues droned on, And the moon watched over all.

Richland, Monochrome, Black and Gold And the pale gold moon loomed low… The melody flew into the endlessly dark sky And the trees stood watch, a righteous canopy.

But the weary blues in his heart remained, For the Negro played with the ache of dusk.

Join in the Dreary tune, Join in the pain that eases. Join the heartbeat of the world— Embrace the blues.

—Langston Hughes

• Langston Hughes