AFRICA

Africa my AfricaAfrica of the proud warriors in

The ancestral savannas,

That trembling back striped red Which says yes to the whip on the Noonday roads, Then gravely a voice answers me Impetuous son that young and Robust tree,

The blood of your sweatThe sweat of your work

The work of slaveryThe slavery of your children.

Africa tell me AfricaIs it then you that back which bends

And drops under the weightOf humility,

 

That tree down thereSplendidly alone among white faded

FlowersIs Africa your Africa which sprouts

Again,

Which resprouts patiently obstinatelyWhose fruits little by little acquire

The bitter savor of liberty.