I have forgotten much, but still remember The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December. - Claude McKay

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!

Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,
Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze;
But looking at her falsely-smiling face,
I knew her self was not in that strange place.