And the sea cried to the hills and the hills answered the sea, till the city rose like a widow and cast away her weeds, and toiled for her daily bread; toiled steadily, toiled cunningly,—perhaps with some bitterness, with a touch, of réclame,—and yet with real earnestness, and real sweat.
W.E.B. Du Bois: “And the sea cried to the hills and the hills answered the sea, till the city rose like a widow and cast away her weeds…”
Editor's note · Context
Continuing the narrative of Atlanta's post-war resurgence, this passage describes the city's determined and arduous efforts to rebuild and prosper.
Share
More from W.E.B. Du Bois
They approach me in a half-hesitant sort of way, eye me curiously or compassionately, and then, instead of saying directly, How does it feel to be a problem? they say, I know an excellent colored man in my town; or, I fought at…
The Nation has not yet found peace from its sins; the freedman has not yet found in freedom his promised land.
But they should not keep these prizes, I said; some, all, I would wrest from them.
The holocaust of war, the terrors of the Ku-Klux Klan, the lies of carpet-baggers, the disorganization of industry, and the contradictory advice of friends and foes, left the bewildered serf with no new watchword beyond the old cry for…