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