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Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.

365

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—

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 30 Aug 2008 2:28 PM | Viewed: 6470 times

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