Gwendolyn B. Bennett quotes

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Hating you shall be a game
Played with cool hands
And slim fingers.
Memory will lay its hands
Upon your breast
And you will understand
My hatred.
All eager-lipped I kissed the mouth of Death.
I want to hear the chanting
Around a heathen fire
Of a strange black race.
I want to feel the surging
Of my sad people's soul
Hidden by a minstrel-smile.
Something of old forgotten queens
Lurks in the lithe abandon of your walk,
Oh, little brown girl, born for sorrow's mate,
Keep all you have of queenliness,
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