Countee Cullen (May 30, 1903 – January 9, 1946), born Countee LeRoy Porter, was a prominent African-American poet, novelist, children's writer, and playwright during the Harlem Renaissance.
Ever at Thy glowing altar Must my heart grow sick and falter, Wishing He I served were black.
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.
Never love with all your heart, It only ends in aching.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark, White stars, is no less lovely being dark
The truth is. . . everything counts. Everything. Everything we do and everything we say. Everything helps or hurts; everything adds to or takes away from someone else.
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.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing: To make a poet black, and bid him sing!
Quaint, outlandish heathen gods Black men fashion out of rods
I have a rendezvous with life.
We shall not always plant while others reap
We were not made to eternally weep.
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?
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, So I make an idle boast; Jesus of the twice-turned cheek Lamb of God, although I speak With my mouth thus, in my heart Do I play a double part.
My poetry has become the way of my giving out what music is within me.
The loss of love is a terrible thing; They lie who say that death is worse.
Lord, I fashion dark gods, too, Daring even to give You Dark despairing features
[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.
Lord, forgive me if my need Sometimes shapes a human creed.
I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.