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.

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.

Countee Cullen
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Yet do I marvel at this curious thing: To make a poet black, and bid him sing.

Countee Cullen
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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.

Countee Cullen
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And if I please you so, my lover,Remember praise is comely.

Countee Cullen
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