Death Cut The Strings That

Lord, I Fashion Dark Gods, Too, Daring Even To Give You Dark Despairing Features

Yet Do I Marvel At This Curious Thing:/ To Make A Poet Black, And Bid Him Sing!

The Night Whose Sable Breast Relieves The Stark, White Stars, Is No Less Lovely Being Dark

[w]e Have Always Resented The Natural Inclination Of Most White People To Demand Spirituals The Moment It Is Known That A Negro Is About To Sing. So Often The Request Has Seemed To Savor Of The Feeling That We Could Do This And This Alone.

Africa? A Book One Thumbs Listlessly, Till Slumber Comes.