Dame Poverty Gave Me My Name, And

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.

What Is Africa To Me: Copper Sun Or Scarlet Sea, Jungle Star Or Jungle Track, Strong Bronzed Men, Or Regal Black Women From Whose Loins I Sprang When The Birds Of Eden Sang?

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.

All Day Long And All Night Through, One Thing Only Must I Do: Quench My Pride And Cool My Blood, Lest I Perish In The Flood.

I Cut My Teeth As The Black Raccoon-- For Implements Of Battle.