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

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

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

“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.”

“And if I please you so, my lover,Remember praise is comely.”