|
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat? Then crouch within the door -- Red -- is the Fire's common tint -- But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame's conditions, It quivers from the Forge Without a color, but the light Of unanointed Blaze. Least Village has its Blacksmith Whose Anvil's even ring Stands symbol for the finer Forge That soundless tugs -- within -- Refining these impatient Ores With hammer, and with Blaze Until the Designated Light Repudiate the Forge --
1862
|
|
|