Classic Poem

So the law's agents left you to the throng;
You, whom the Court found innocent of wrong;
You, who could only stare and only sob;
They gave you over to that bawling mob,
Who shot at you like bullies from the back,
Because — poor devil — yes, your skin was black!

I do not pity you, my friend, who go
To sudden solitude of those who know
Only the ancient silences of death,
Who hear no more the feet of rain, the breath

Of low waves folding on the April seas,
But, Oh, deep in my heart I pity these
Poor human blunderers who have tonight
Made me, God knows, ashamed of being white!