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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386652" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Destiny</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386652" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1856 </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386652" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Paris, from throats of iron, silver, brass, <br>Joy-thundering cannon, blent with chiming bells, <br>And martial strains, the full-voiced pæan swells. <br>The air is starred with flags, the chanted mass <br>Throngs all the churches, yet the broad streets swarm <br>With glad-eyed groups who chatter, laugh, and pass, <br>In holiday confusion, class with class. <br>And over all the spring, the sun-floods warm! <br>In the Imperial palace that March morn, <br>The beautiful young mother lay and smiled; <br>For by her side just breathed the Prince, her child, <br>Heir to an empire, to the purple born, <br>Crowned with the Titan's name that stirs the heart <br>Like a blown clarion--one more Bonaparte. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386652" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>1879</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386652" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Born to the purple, lying stark and dead, <br>Transfixed with poisoned spears, beneath the sun <br>Of brazen Africa! Thy grave is one, <br>Fore-fated youth (on whom were visited <br>Follies and sins not thine), whereat the world, <br>Heartless howe'er it be, will pause to sing <br>A dirge, to breathe a sigh, a wreath to fling <br>Of rosemary and rue with bay-leaves curled. <br>Enmeshed in toils ambitious, not thine own, <br>Immortal, loved boy-Prince, thou tak'st thy stand <br>With early doomed Don Carlos, hand in hand <br>With mild-browed Arthur, Geoffrey's murdered son. <br>Louis the Dauphin lifts his thorn-ringed head, <br>And welcomes thee, his brother, 'mongst the dead.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Emma+Lazarus">Emma Lazarus</a></strong></div>

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