A Curse for a Nation: Prologue

I heard an angel speak last night,
&nbspAnd he said “Write!
Write a Nation’s curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.”

I faltered, taking up the word:
&nbsp“Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.

“For I am bound by gratitude,
&nbspBy love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.”

“Therefore,” the voice said, “shalt thou write
&nbspMy curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.”

“Not so,” I answered. “Evermore
&nbspMy heart is sore
For my own land’s sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:

“For parked-up honours that gainsay
&nbspThe right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:

“For love of freedom which abates
&nbspBeyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:

“For an oligarchic parliament,
&nbspAnd bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?”

“Therefore,” the voice said, “shalt thou write
&nbspMy curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done within thy gate.”

“Not so,” I answered once again.
&nbsp“To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.”

“Therefore,” the voice said, “shalt thou write
&nbspMy curse to-night.
Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.

“And thou shalt take their part to-night,
&nbspWeep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.”

So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,
&nbspWhat all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.