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
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