I Doubt Not God Is Good, Well-meaning,

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

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?

If I Am Going To Be A Poet At All, I Am Going To Be Poet And Not Negro Poet.

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

[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.