Countee Cullen

To Certain Critics

Then call me traitor if you must,  
Shout treason and default!
Say I betray a sacred trust
Aching beyond this vault.
I’ll bear your censure as your praise,  
For never shall the clan
Confine my singing to its ways
Beyond the ways of man.
 
No racial option narrows grief,
Pain is no patriot,
And sorrow plaits her dismal leaf  
For all as lief as not.
With blind sheep groping every hill,  
Searching an oriflamme,
How shall the shepherd heart then thrill  
To only the darker lamb?
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