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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409836" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ultima Thule: From My Arm-Chair</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Am I a king, that I should call my own<br>This splendid ebon throne?<br>Or by what reason, or what right divine,<br>Can I proclaim it mine? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Only, perhaps, by right divine of song<br>It may to me belong;<br>Only because the spreading chestnut tree<br>Of old was sung by me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well I remember it in all its prime,<br>When in the summer-time<br>The affluent foliage of its branches made<br>A cavern of cool shade. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street,<br>Its blossoms white and sweet<br>Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive,<br>And murmured like a hive. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when the winds of autumn, with a shout,<br>Tossed its great arms about,<br>The shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath,<br>Dropped to the ground beneath. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now some fragments of its branches bare,<br>Shaped as a stately chair,<br>Have by my hearthstone found a home at last,<br>And whisper of the past. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Danish king could not in all his pride<br>Repel the ocean tide,<br>But, seated in this chair, I can in rhyme<br>Roll back the tide of Time. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see again, as one in vision sees,<br>The blossoms and the bees,<br>And hear the children's voices shout and call,<br>And the brown chestnuts fall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see the smithy with its fires aglow,<br>I hear the bellows blow,<br>And the shrill hammers on the anvil beat<br>The iron white with heat! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus, dear children, have ye made for me<br>This day a jubilee,<br>And to my more than three-score years and ten<br>Brought back my youth again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The heart hath its own memory, like the mind,<br>And in it are enshrined<br>The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought<br>The giver's loving thought. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Only your love and your remembrance could<br>Give life to this dead wood,<br>And make these branches, leafless now so long,<br>Blossom again in song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</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=409836" data-title="Ultima Thule: From My Arm-Chair de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="Am I a king, that I should call my own
This splendid ebon throne?
Or by what reason, or what right divine,
Can I proclaim it mine? 

Only, perhaps, by right divine of song
It may to me belong;
Only because the spreading chestnut tree
Of old was su..."></div>
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