Here you will find the Poem Harlem Wine of poet Countée Cullen
This is not water running here, These thick rebellious streams That hurtle flesh and bone past fear Down alleyways of dreams This is a wine that must flow on Not caring how or where So it has ways to flow upon Where song is in the air. So it can woo an artful flute With loose elastic lips Its measurements of joy compute With blithe, ecstatic hips.
