We were not made to eternally weep.

We shall not always plant while others reap

Not for myself I make this prayer, But for this race of mine That stretches forth from shadowed places Dark hands for bread and wine.

I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.

For we must be one thing or the other, an asset or a liability, the sinew in your wing to help you soar, or the chain to bind you to earth.

Never love with all your heart, It only ends in aching.

If I am going to be a poet at all, I am going to be POET and not NEGRO POET.