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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115435" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Nero</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This Rome, that was the toil of many men,<br>The consummation of laborious years—<br>Fulfilment's crown to visions of the dead<br>And image of the wide desire of kings—<br>Is made my darkling dream's effulgency,<br>Fuel of vision, brief embodiment<br>Of wandering will and wastage of the strong<br>Fierce ecstasy of one tremendous hour,<br>When ages piled on ages like a pyre<br>Flamed to the years behind and years to be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet any sunset were as much as this,<br>Save for the music forced from tongueless things,<br>The rape of Matter's huge, unchorded harp<br>By the many-fingered fire—a music pierced<br>With the tense voice of Life, more quick to cry<br>Its agony—and save that I believed<br>The radiance redder for the blood of men.<br>Destruction hastens and intensifies<br>The process that is beauty, manifests<br>Ranges of form unknown before, and gives<br>Motion, and voice, and hue, where otherwise<br>Bleak inexpressiveness had levelled all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If one create, there is the lengthy toil;<br>The labored years and days league toward an end<br>Less than the measure of desire, mayhap,<br>After the sure consuming of all strength<br>And strain of faculties that otherwhere<br>Were loosed upon enjoyment; and at last<br>Remains to one capacity nor power<br>For pleasure in the thing that he hath made.<br>But on destruction hangs but little use<br>Of time or faculty, but all is turned<br>To the one purpose, unobstructed, pure,<br>Of sensuous rapture and observant joy;<br>And from the intensities of death and ruin<br>One draws a heightened and completer life,<br>And both extends and vindicates himself.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I would I were a god, with all the scope<br>Of attributes that are the essential core<br>Of godhead, and its visibility.<br>I am but emperor, and hold awhile<br>The power to hasten death upon its way,<br>And cry a halt to worn and lagging Life<br>For others, but for mine own self may not<br>Delay the one nor bid the other speed.<br>There have been many kings, and they are dead,<br>And have no power in death save what the wind<br>Confers upon their blown and brainless dust<br>To vex the eyeballs of posterity.<br>But were I God, I would be overlord<br>Of many kings, and were as breath to guide<br>Their dust of destiny. And were I God,<br>Exempt from this mortality which clogs<br>Perception and clear exercise of will,<br>What rapture it would be, if but to watch<br>Destruction crouching at the back of Time,<br>The tongueless dooms which dog the travelling suns;<br>The vampire, Silence, at the breast of worlds,<br>Fire without light that gnaws the base of things,<br>And Lethe's mounting tide that rots the stone<br>Of fundamental spheres. This were enough<br>Till such time as the dazzled wings of will<br>Came up with power's accession, scarcely felt<br>For very suddenness. Then I would urge<br>The strong contention and conflicting might<br>Of Chaos and Creation—matching them,<br>Those immemorial powers inimical,<br>And all their stars and gulfs subservient,<br>Dynasts of time, and anarchs of the dark—<br>In closer war reverseless, and would set<br>New discord at the universal core—<br>A Samson-principle to bring it down<br>In one magnificence of ruin. Yea,<br>The monster, Chaos, were mine unleashed hound,<br>And all my power Destruction's own right arm!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I would exult to mark the smouldering stars<br>Renew beneath my breath their elder fire<br>And feed upon themselves to nothingness.<br>The might of suns—slow-paced with swinging weight<br>Of myriad worlds—were made at my desire<br>One orb of roaring and torrential light,<br>Through which the voice of Life were audible,<br>And singing of the immemorial dead,<br>Whose dust is loosened into vaporous wings<br>With soaring wrack of systems ruinous.<br>And were I weary of the glare of these,<br>I would tear out the eyes of light, and stand<br>Above a chaos of extinguished suns,<br>That crowd and grind and shiver thunderously,<br>Lending vast voice and motion but no ray<br>To the stretched silence of the blinded gulfs.<br>Thus would I give my godhead space and speech<br>For its assertion, and thus pleasure it,<br>Hastening the feet of Time with cast of worlds<br>Like careless pebbles, or, with shattered suns,<br>Brightening the aspect of Eternity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clark+Ashton+Smith">Clark Ashton Smith</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115435" data-title="Nero de Clark Ashton Smith" data-description="This Rome, that was the toil of many men,/The consummation of laborious years—/Fulfilment's crown to visions of the dead/And image of the wide desire of kings—/Is made my darkling dream's effulgency,/Fuel of vision, brief embodiment/Of wanderi..."></div>
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