A Curse for Kings
A curse upon each king who leads his state,No matter what his plea, to this foul game,And may it end his wicked dynasty,And may he die in exile and black shame.
If there is vengeance in the Heaven of Heavens,What punishment could Heaven devise for theseWho fill the rivers of the world with dead,And turn their murderers loose on all the seas!
Put back the clock of time a thousand years,And make our Europe, once the world's proud Queen,A shrieking strumpet, furious fratricide,Eater of entrails, wallowing obscene
In pits where millions foam and rave and bark,Mad dogs and idiots, thrice drunk with strife;While Science towers above;--a witch, red-winged:Science we looked to for the light of life.
Curse me the men who make and sell iron ships,Who walk the floor in thought, that they may findEach powder prompt, each steel with fearful edge,Each deadliest device against mankind.
Curse me the sleek lords with their plumes and spurs,May Heaven give their land to peasant spades,Give them the brand of Cain, for their pride's sake,And felon's stripes for medals and for braids.
Curse me the fiddling, twiddling diplomats,Haggling here, plotting and hatching there,Who make the kind world but their game of cards,Till millions die at turning of a hair.
What punishment will Heaven devise for theseWho win by others' sweat and hardihood,Who make men into stinking vultures' meat,Saying to evil still "Be thou my good"?
Ah, he who starts a million souls toward deathShould burn in utmost hell a million years!--Mothers of men go on the destined wrackTo give them life, with anguish and with tears:--
Are all those childbed sorrows sneered away?Yea, fools laugh at the humble christenings,And cradle-joys are mocked of the fat lords:These mothers' sons made dead men for the Kings!
All in the name of this or that grim flag,No angel-flags in all the rag-array--Banners the demons love, and all Hell singsAnd plays wild harps. Those flags march forth to-day!
Words in this poem
- fratricide n.
- The act of one who murders or kills his own brother. [L. fratricidium a brother's murder, fr. fratricida a brother's murderer; frater, fratris, brother + caedere to kill: cf. F. fratricide.]
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- hardihood n.
- Boldness, united with firmness and constancy of mind; bravery; intrepidity; also, audaciousness; impudence. [Hardy + -hood.]
- wrack n.
- Wreck; ruin; destruction. [OE. wrak wreck. See Wreck.]
- childbed n.
- The state of a woman bringing forth a child, or being in labor; parturition.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Curse for Kings is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Congo, and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #1021; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Vachel Lindsay, A Curse for Kings, in The Congo and Other Poems (1914), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1021, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/lindsay-congo/a-curse-for-kings.html, id L00998.
Form and metre
A Curse for Kings is 44 lines in 11 stanzas of 4 lines each. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 87%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A state · gameA · dynasty · shameA
- 2 -A-A heavens · theseA · dead · seasA
- 3 -A-A years · queenA · fratricide · obsceneA
- 4 -A-A bark · strifeA · winged · lifeA
- 5 -A-A ships · findA · edge · mankindA
- 6 -A-A spurs · spadesA · sake · braidsA
- 7 -A-A diplomats · thereA · cards · hairA
- 8 -A-A these · hardihoodA · meat · goodA
- 9 -A-A death · yearsA · wrack · tearsA
- 10 -A-A away · christeningsA · lords · kingsA
- 11 -A-A flag · arrayA · sings · dayA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| A curse upon each king who leads his state, | 10 | ·········· |
| No matter what his plea, to this foul game, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And may it end his wicked dynasty, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘˘ |
| And may he die in exile and black shame. | 10 | ·····/···· |
| If there is vengeance in the Heaven of Heavens, | 11 | ···/˘··/·/˘ |
| What punishment could Heaven devise for these | 10 | ·/˘˘·/˘/·· |
| Who fill the rivers of the world with dead, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And turn their murderers loose on all the seas! | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Put back the clock of time a thousand years, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And make our Europe, once the world's proud Queen, | 10 | ··//˘····· |
| A shrieking strumpet, furious fratricide, | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘/˘· |
| Eater of entrails, wallowing obscene | 10 | /˘·/˘/˘˘˘/ |
| In pits where millions foam and rave and bark, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Mad dogs and idiots, thrice drunk with strife; | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| While Science towers above;--a witch, red-winged: | 10 | ·/˘/······ |
| Science we looked to for the light of life. | 10 | /˘········ |
| Curse me the men who make and sell iron ships, | 10 | ········/· |
| Who walk the floor in thought, that they may find | 10 | ·········· |
| Each powder prompt, each steel with fearful edge, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Each deadliest device against mankind. | 10 | ·/˘˘˘/··// |
| Curse me the sleek lords with their plumes and spurs, | 10 | ·········· |
| May Heaven give their land to peasant spades, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Give them the brand of Cain, for their pride's sake, | 10 | ·········· |
| And felon's stripes for medals and for braids. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Curse me the fiddling, twiddling diplomats, | 10 | ···/˘/˘/˘· |
| Haggling here, plotting and hatching there, | 10 | /˘˘·/˘·/˘· |
| Who make the kind world but their game of cards, | 10 | ·········· |
| Till millions die at turning of a hair. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| What punishment will Heaven devise for these | 10 | ·/˘˘·/˘/·· |
| Who win by others' sweat and hardihood, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘˘ |
| Who make men into stinking vultures' meat, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Saying to evil still "Be thou my good"? | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| Ah, he who starts a million souls toward death | 11 | ·····/˘···· |
| Should burn in utmost hell a million years! | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| --Mothers of men go on the destined wrack | 10 | /˘·····/˘· |
| To give them life, with anguish and with tears:-- | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Are all those childbed sorrows sneered away? | 10 | ···/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Yea, fools laugh at the humble christenings, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘˘ |
| And cradle-joys are mocked of the fat lords: | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| These mothers' sons made dead men for the Kings! | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| All in the name of this or that grim flag, | 10 | ·········· |
| No angel-flags in all the rag-array-- | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| Banners the demons love, and all Hell sings | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| And plays wild harps. Those flags march forth to-day! | 10 | ·········· |
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