Ho! my brother, Pass me not by so scornfully I’m doing this living of being black, Perhaps I bear your own life-pack, And heavy, heavy is the load That bends my body to the road.

But I have kept a smile for fate, I neither cry, nor cringe, nor hate, Intrepidly, I strive to bear This handicap. The planets wear The Maker’s imprint, _and with mine I swing into their rhythmic line; I ask—only for destiny, Mine, not thine.