III

The ore leaping in the crucibles,

The ore communicant,

Sending faint thrills along the leads...

Fire is running along the roots of the mountains...

I feel the long recoil of earth

As under a mighty quickening...

(Dawn is aglow in the light of the Iron...)

All palpitant, I wait...

The Ghetto, and Other Poems · 第 27 / 61 题