Nephite Blood - Spartan Heart

Literary Shaman & Pulp Activist

Posts tagged Robert E. Howard

3 notes

Cimmeria: I rememberThe dark woods, masking slopes of sombre hills;The grey clouds’ leaden everlasting arch;The dusky streams that flowed without a sound,And the lone winds that whispered down the passes.Vista upon vista marching, hills on hills,Slope beyond slope, each dark with sullen trees,Our gaunt land lay. So when a man climbed upA rugged peak and gazed, his shaded eyeSaw but the endless vista—hill on hill,Slope beyond slope, each hooded like its brothers.It was gloomy land that seemed to holdAll winds and clouds and dreams that shun the sun,With bare boughs rattling in the lonesome winds,And the dark woodlands brooding over all,Not even lightened by the rare dim sunWhich made squat shadows out of men; they called itCimmeria, land of Darkness and deep Night.It was so long ago and far awayI have forgotten the very name men called me.The axe and flint-tipped spear are like a dream,And hunts and wars are like shadows. I recallOnly the stillness of that sombre land;The clouds that piled forever on the hills,The dimness of the everlasting woods.Cimmeria, land of Darkness and the Night.Robert E. Howard

Cimmeria:

I remember
The dark woods, masking slopes of sombre hills;
The grey clouds’ leaden everlasting arch;
The dusky streams that flowed without a sound,
And the lone winds that whispered down the passes.

Vista upon vista marching, hills on hills,
Slope beyond slope, each dark with sullen trees,
Our gaunt land lay. So when a man climbed up
A rugged peak and gazed, his shaded eye
Saw but the endless vista—hill on hill,
Slope beyond slope, each hooded like its brothers.

It was gloomy land that seemed to hold
All winds and clouds and dreams that shun the sun,
With bare boughs rattling in the lonesome winds,
And the dark woodlands brooding over all,
Not even lightened by the rare dim sun
Which made squat shadows out of men; they called it
Cimmeria, land of Darkness and deep Night.

It was so long ago and far away
I have forgotten the very name men called me.
The axe and flint-tipped spear are like a dream,
And hunts and wars are like shadows. I recall
Only the stillness of that sombre land;
The clouds that piled forever on the hills,
The dimness of the everlasting woods.
Cimmeria, land of Darkness and the Night.

Robert E. Howard

Filed under Robert e. Howard Cimmeria poetry

1 note

The Phoenix on the Sword What do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, the craft and the lie? I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky. The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadsword sing; Rush in and die dogs- I was a man before I was a king.                                              Robert E. Howard January 22, 1906 – June 11, 1936
The Phoenix on the Sword
What do I know of cultured ways,
the gilt, the craft and the lie?
I, who was born in a naked land
and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile,
they fail when the broadsword sing;
Rush in and die dogs-
I was a man before I was a king.

                                             Robert E. Howard

January 22, 1906 – June 11, 1936

Filed under Robert E. Howard Conan poetry Phoenix on the Sword