Elizabeth Barrett Browning — 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.