Page:The Bells and Other Poems (1912).pdf/304

TAMERLANE Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven

Above with trellis'd rays from Heaven

No mote may shun—no tiniest fly—

The lightening of his eagle eye—

How was it that Ambition crept,

Unseen, amid the revels there,

Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt

In the tangles of Love's very hair ?