Poetry

Poems

Tamerlane

Kind solace in a dying hour!Such, father, is not (now) my theme⁠—I will not madly deem that powerOf Earth may shrive me of the sinUnearthly pride hath revelled in⁠—I have no time to dote or dream:You call it hope⁠—that fire of fire!It is but agony of desire:If I can hope⁠—O God! I can⁠—Its fount is holier⁠—more divine⁠—I would not call thee fool, old man,But such is not a gift of thine.

Know thou the secret of a spiritBowed from its wild pride into shame.O yearning heart! I did inheritThy withering portion with the fame,The searing glory which hath shoneAmid the Jewels of my throne,Halo of Hell! and with a painNot Hell shall make me fear again⁠—O craving heart, for the lost flowersAnd sunshine of my summer hours!Th’ undying voice of that dead time,With its interminable chime,Rings, in the spirit of a spell,Upon thy emptiness⁠—a knell.

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