These fell miasmic rings of mist, with ghoulish menace bound, Like noose-horizons tightening my little world around, They still the soaring will to wing, to dance, to speed away, And fling the soul insurgent back into its shell of clay:
Beneath incrusted silences, a seething Etna lies,
The fire of whose furnaces may sleep — but never dies!
My thoughts: “Prejudice” is a poem that stands out to me because it demonstrates the accuracy of DuBois’ praise. Imagery of nooses and confinement convey that the speaker of this poem is suffocating and dreams are quashed under the weight of bigotry. But under the surface, there is a big explosion of dreams that may be dormant but won’t go away completely.