My City by James Weldon Johnson

When I come down to sleep death's endless night,
The threshodl of the unknown dark to cross,
What to me then will be the keenest loss,
When this bright world blurs on my fading sight?
Will it be that no more I shall see the tress
Or smell the flowers or hear the singing birds
Or watch the flashing streams or patient herds?
No, I am sure it will be none of these.

But, ah! Manhattan's sights and sounds, her smells,
Her crowds, her throbbing force, the thriss that comes
From being of her a part, her subtle spells,
Her shining towers, her avenues, her slums-
O God! the stark, unutterable pity,
To be dead, and neveragain behold my city.

James Weldon Johnson was born in Florida, on June 17th, in 1871.
He was Named James William Johnson but he changed his middle name to Weldon in 1913.
He was also and educater and a song writter.