We Negro Writers, Just By

An Artist Must Be Free To Choose What He Does, Certainly, But He Must Also Never Be Afraid To Do What He Might Choose.

Peace We Passed Their Graves: The Dead Men There, Winners Or Losers, Did Not Care. In The Dark They Could Not See Who Had Gained The Victory.

Out Of The Rack And Ruin Of Our Gangster Death, The Rape And Rot Of Graft, And Stealth, And Lies, We, The People, Must Redeem The Land, The Mines, The Plants, The Rivers. The Mountains And The Endless Plain-- All, All The Stretch Of These Great Green States-- And Make America Again!

Most Musicians Remain Poor. But The Music That They Make, Even If It Does Not Bring Them Millions, Gives Millions Of People Happiness.

You And I By Henry Alford My Hand Is Lonely For Your Clasping, Dear; My Ear Is Tired Waiting For Your Call. I Want Your Strength To Help, Your Laugh To Cheer; Heart, Soul And Senses Need You, One And All. I Droop Without Your Full, Frank Sympathy; We Ought To Be Together—you And I; We Want Each Other So, To Comprehend The Dream, The Hope, Things Planned, Or Seen, Or Wrought. Companion, Comforter And Guide And Friend, As Much As Love Asks Love, Does Thought Ask Thought. Life Is So Short, So Fast The Lone Hours Fly, We Ought To Be Together, You And I.