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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373669" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tamerlane</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Kind solace in a dying hour!<br> Such, father, is not (now) my theme-<br> I will not madly deem that power<br> Of Earth may shrive me of the sin<br> Unearthly pride hath revell'd in-<br> I have no time to dote or dream:<br> You call it hope- that fire of fire!<br> It is but agony of desire:<br> If I can hope- Oh God! I can-<br> Its fount is holier- more divine-<br> I would not call thee fool, old man,<br> But such is not a gift of thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Know thou the secret of a spirit<br> Bow'd from its wild pride into shame.<br> O yearning heart! I did inherit<br> Thy withering portion with the fame,<br> The searing glory which hath shone<br> Amid the jewels of my throne,<br> Halo of Hell! and with a pain<br> Not Hell shall make me fear again-<br> O craving heart, for the lost flowers<br> And sunshine of my summer hours!<br> The undying voice of that dead time,<br> With its interminable chime,<br> Rings, in the spirit of a spell,<br> Upon thy emptiness- a knell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> I have not always been as now:<br> The fever'd diadem on my brow<br> I claim'd and won usurpingly-<br> Hath not the same fierce heirdom given<br> Rome to the Caesar- this to me?<br> The heritage of a kingly mind,<br> And a proud spirit which hath striven<br> Triumphantly with human kind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> On mountain soil I first drew life:<br> The mists of the Taglay have shed<br> Nightly their dews upon my head,<br> And, I believe, the winged strife<br> And tumult of the headlong air<br> Have nestled in my very hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> So late from Heaven- that dew- it fell<br> (Mid dreams of an unholy night)<br> Upon me with the touch of Hell,<br> While the red flashing of the light<br> From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er,<br> Appeared to my half-closing eye<br> The pageantry of monarchy,<br> And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar<br> Came hurriedly upon me, telling<br> Of human battle, where my voice,<br> My own voice, silly child!- was swelling<br> (O! how my spirit would rejoice,<br> And leap within me at the cry)<br> The battle-cry of Victory!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The rain came down upon my head<br> Unshelter'd- and the heavy wind<br> Rendered me mad and deaf and blind.<br> It was but man, I thought, who shed<br> Laurels upon me: and the rush-<br> The torrent of the chilly air<br> Gurgled within my ear the crush<br> Of empires- with the captive's prayer-<br> The hum of suitors- and the tone<br> Of flattery 'round a sovereign's throne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My passions, from that hapless hour,<br> Usurp'd a tyranny which men<br> Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to power,<br> My innate nature- be it so:<br> But father, there liv'd one who, then,<br> Then- in my boyhood- when their fire<br> Burn'd with a still intenser glow,<br> (For passion must, with youth, expire)<br> E'en then who knew this iron heart<br> In woman's weakness had a part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> I have no words- alas!- to tell<br> The loveliness of loving well!<br> Nor would I now attempt to trace<br> The more than beauty of a face<br> Whose lineaments, upon my mind,<br> Are- shadows on th' unstable wind:<br> Thus I remember having dwelt<br> Some page of early lore upon,<br> With loitering eye, till I have felt<br> The letters- with their meaning- melt<br> To fantasies- with none.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O, she was worthy of all love!<br> Love- as in infancy was mine-<br> 'Twas such as angel minds above<br> Might envy; her young heart the shrine<br> On which my every hope and thought<br> Were incense- then a goodly gift,<br> For they were childish and upright-<br> Pure- as her young example taught:<br> Why did I leave it, and, adrift,<br> Trust to the fire within, for light?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> We grew in age- and love- together,<br> Roaming the forest, and the wild;<br> My breast her shield in wintry weather-<br> And when the friendly sunshine smil'd,<br> And she would mark the opening skies,<br> I saw no Heaven- but in her eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Young Love's first lesson is- the heart:<br> For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles,<br> When, from our little cares apart,<br> And laughing at her girlish wiles,<br> I'd throw me on her throbbing breast,<br> And pour my spirit out in tears-<br> There was no need to speak the rest-<br> No need to quiet any fears<br> Of her- who ask'd no reason why,<br> But turn'd on me her quiet eye!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Yet more than worthy of the love<br> My spirit struggled with, and strove,<br> When, on the mountain peak, alone,<br> Ambition lent it a new tone-<br> I had no being- but in thee:<br> The world, and all it did contain<br> In the earth- the air- the sea-<br> Its joy- its little lot of pain<br> That was new pleasure- the ideal,<br> Dim vanities of dreams by night-</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And dimmer nothings which were real-<br> (Shadows- and a more shadowy light!)<br> Parted upon their misty wings,<br> And, so, confusedly, became<br> Thine image, and- a name- a name!<br> Two separate- yet most intimate things.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> I was ambitious- have you known<br> The passion, father? You have not:<br> A cottager, I mark'd a throne<br> Of half the world as all my own,<br> And murmur'd at such lowly lot-<br> But, just like any other dream,<br> Upon the vapour of the dew<br> My own had past, did not the beam<br> Of beauty which did while it thro'<br> The minute- the hour- the day- oppress<br> My mind with double loveliness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> We walk'd together on the crown<br> Of a high mountain which look'd down<br> Afar from its proud natural towers<br> Of rock and forest, on the hills-<br> The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers,<br> And shouting with a thousand rills.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> I spoke to her of power and pride,<br> But mystically- in such guise<br> That she might deem it nought beside<br> The moment's converse; in her eyes<br> I read, perhaps too carelessly-<br> A mingled feeling with my own-<br> The flush on her bright cheek, to me<br> Seem'd to become a queenly throne<br> Too well that I should let it be<br> Light in the wilderness alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> I wrapp'd myself in grandeur then,<br> And donn'd a visionary crown-<br> Yet it was not that Fantasy<br> Had thrown her mantle over me-<br> But that, among the rabble- men,<br> Lion ambition is chained down-<br> And crouches to a keeper's hand-<br> Not so in deserts where the grand-<br> The wild- the terrible conspire<br> With their own breath to fan his fire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Look 'round thee now on Samarcand!<br> Is not she queen of Earth? her pride<br> Above all cities? in her hand<br> Their destinies? in all beside<br> Of glory which the world hath known<br> Stands she not nobly and alone?<br> Falling- her veriest stepping-stone<br> Shall form the pedestal of a throne-<br> And who her sovereign? Timour- he<br> Whom the astonished people saw<br> Striding o'er empires haughtily<br> A diadem'd outlaw!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O, human love! thou spirit given<br> On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven!<br> Which fall'st into the soul like rain<br> Upon the Siroc-wither'd plain,<br> And, failing in thy power to bless,<br> But leav'st the heart a wilderness!<br> Idea! which bindest life around<br> With music of so strange a sound,<br> And beauty of so wild a birth-<br> Farewell! for I have won the Earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> When Hope, the eagle that tower'd, could see<br> No cliff beyond him in the sky,<br> His pinions were bent droopingly-<br> And homeward turn'd his soften'd eye.<br> 'Twas sunset: when the sun will part<br> There comes a sullenness of heart<br> To him who still would look upon<br> The glory of the summer sun.<br> That soul will hate the ev'ning mist,<br> So often lovely, and will list<br> To the sound of the coming darkness (known<br> To those whose spirits hearken) as one<br> Who, in a dream of night, would fly<br> But cannot from a danger nigh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> What tho' the moon- the white moon<br> Shed all the splendour of her noon,<br> Her smile is chilly, and her beam,<br> In that time of dreariness, will seem<br> (So like you gather in your breath)<br> A portrait taken after death.<br> And boyhood is a summer sun<br> Whose waning is the dreariest one-<br> For all we live to know is known,<br> And all we seek to keep hath flown-<br> Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall<br> With the noon-day beauty- which is all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> I reach'd my home- my home no more<br> For all had flown who made it so.<br> I pass'd from out its mossy door,<br> And, tho' my tread was soft and low,<br> A voice came from the threshold stone<br> Of one whom I had earlier known-<br> O, I defy thee, Hell, to show<br> On beds of fire that burn below,<br> A humbler heart- a deeper woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Father, I firmly do believe-<br> I know- for Death, who comes for me<br> From regions of the blest afar,<br> Where there is nothing to deceive,<br> Hath left his iron gate ajar,<br> And rays of truth you cannot see<br> Are flashing thro' Eternity-<br> I do believe that Eblis hath<br> A snare in every human path-<br> Else how, when in the holy grove<br> I wandered of the idol, Love,<br> Who daily scents his snowy wings<br> With incense of burnt offerings<br> From the most unpolluted things,<br> Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven<br> Above with trellis'd rays from Heaven,<br> No mote may shun- no tiniest fly-<br> The lightning of his eagle eye-<br> How was it that Ambition crept,<br> Unseen, amid the revels there,<br> Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt<br> In the tangles of Love's very hair?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edgar+Allan+Poe">Edgar Allan Poe</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=373669" data-title="Tamerlane de Edgar Allan Poe" data-description="Kind solace in a dying hour!
 Such, father, is not (now) my theme-
 I will not madly deem that power
 Of Earth may shrive me of the sin
 Unearthly pride hath revell'd in-
 I have no time to dote or dream:
 You call it hope- that fire of fire!
 It ..."></div>
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