This poem arrived in my e-mail this morning, courtesy of the Academy of American Poets (poets.org) Poem of the Day. It speaks for itself on this day of remembering Martin Luther King, Jr.
Let America 
Be America Again
Let America be America again. 
Let it be the dream it used to be. 
Let it be the pioneer on the plain 
Seeking a home where he himself is free. 
(America never was America to me.) 
Let America be the dream the dreamers 
dreamed-- 
Let it be that great strong land of love 
Where never kings connive nor tyrants 
scheme 
That any man be crushed by one above. 
(It never was America to me.) 
O, let my land be a land where Liberty 
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, 
But opportunity is real, and life is free, 
Equality is in the air we breathe. 
(There's never been equality for me, 
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the 
free.") 
Say, who are you that mumbles in the 
dark? 
And who are you that draws your veil across the 
stars? 
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed 
apart, 
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars. 
I am the red man driven from the land, 
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I 
seek-- 
And finding only the same old stupid plan 
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. 
I am the young man, full of strength and 
hope, 
Tangled in that ancient endless chain 
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! 
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying 
need! 
Of work the men! Of take the pay! 
Of owning everything for one's own greed! 
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. 
I am the worker sold to the machine. 
I am the Negro, servant to you all. 
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean-- 
Hungry yet today despite the dream. 
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers! 
I am the man who never got ahead, 
The poorest worker bartered through the 
years. 
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream 
In the Old World while still a serf of 
kings, 
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so 
true, 
That even yet its mighty daring sings 
In every brick and stone, in every furrow 
turned 
That's made America the land it has 
become. 
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas 
In search of what I meant to be my home-- 
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's 
shore, 
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy 
lea, 
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came 
To build a "homeland of the free." 
The free? 
Who said the free? Not me? 
Surely not me? The millions on relief 
today? 
The millions shot down when we strike? 
The millions who have nothing for our pay? 
For all the dreams we've dreamed 
And all the songs we've sung 
And all the hopes we've held 
And all the flags we've hung, 
The millions who have nothing for our 
pay-- 
Except the dream that's almost dead today. 
O, let America be America again-- 
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is 
free. 
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, 
ME--
Who made America, 
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and 
pain, 
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the 
rain, 
Must bring back our mighty dream again. 
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-- 
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's 
lives, 
We must take back our land again, 
America! 
O, yes, 
I say it plain, 
America never was America to me, 
And yet I swear this oath-- 
America will be! 
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster 
death, 
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and 
lies, 
We, the people, must redeem 
The land, the mines, the plants, the 
rivers. 
The mountains and the endless plain-- 
All, all the stretch of these great green 
states-- 
And make America again! 
 


 
 

















