Am I not the lover of Beauty
To follow her where I know she is hid
By the aroma of her pleasure?
Yesterday I had pleasure of Helen,
Of white, of yellow hair,
But to-day a negress is my delight,
And Beauty is black.

There are some that are as small tradesmen,
To sell beauty in a shop,
Nothing what has been desired, and acclaiming it eternally good.
So poets fill verses
For ever with the owl, the oak, and the nightingale,
I say the crow is a better bird than the nightingale,
Since to-day Beauty is black.

The lark sings flat
Of wearisome trees and spiritless fields,
But there is great music in the hyaena,
For there is pleasure in deserts.