At noon
Within the sandy cotton-field
Beyond the clay, red road
Bordered with green.
A Negro lad and lass
Cling hand in hand,
And Passion, hot-eyed, hot-lipped,
Lurks unseen.
But in the evening
When the skies lean down,
He's but a wistful boy.
A saintly maiden she.
For Alabama stars
Hang down so lo
So low they purge the soul
With their infinity.