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.

Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed, Confine some under cover, And when love goes, bid him God-speed. And find another lover.

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

I have a rendezvous with life.

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

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind

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.