Hill Daughter

LAND of my fathers and blood, oh my Fathers, whatever
Is left of your grudge in the rock, of your hate in the stone,
I have brought you at last what you sternly required that I bring you,
And have brought it alone—
I, who from the womb must be drawn, though the first-born, a daughter,
And could never stand straight with the rifle nor lean with the plough.
Here is ease for the curse; here is cause for the breaking of silence.
You can answer me now.
It has taken me long to return, and you died without knowing;
But down where the veins of the rock and the aspen tree run —
Land of my fathers and blood, oh my Fathers, whatever
Is left of your hearts in the dust —
I have brought you a son.