by Countee Cullen (1903 - 1946)
Yet do I marvel
Language: English
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind And did He stoop to quibble could tell why The little buried mole continues blind, Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die, Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus To struggle up a never-ending stair. Inscrutable His ways are, and immune To catechism by a mind too strewn With petty cares to slightly understand What awful brain compels His awful hand. Yet do I marvel at this curious thing: To make a poet black, and bid him sing!
Text Authorship:
- by Countee Cullen (1903 - 1946), "Yet do I marvel" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Tom Cipullo (b. 1960), "Yet Do I Marvel", 2000 [ voice and piano ], from Climbing: 7 Songs on 8 Poems by African-Americans, no. 3 [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Robert Owens (1925 - 2017), "Yet do I marvel", op. 27 no. 2 [ high voice and piano ], from Three Countee Cullen Songs, no. 2 [sung text not yet checked]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2010-10-26
Line count: 14
Word count: 100