..
And out of these molten flowers,
Shall shape the heavy fruit...
Then open the valves--
Drive the fires high,
Your blossoms nurturing.
(Day is at the gates
And a young wind...)
Put by your rod, comrade,
And look with me, shading your eyes...
Do you not see--
Through the lucent haze
Out of the converter rising--
In the spirals of fire
Smiting and blinding,
A shadowy shape
White as a flame of sacrifice,
Like a lily swaying?
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...
IV
Here ye, Dictators--late Lords of the Iron,
Shut in your council rooms, palsied, depowered--
The blooded, implacable Word?
Not whispered in cloture, one to the other,
(Brother in fear of the fear of his brother...)
But chanted and thundered
On the brazen, articulate tongues of the Iron
Babbling in flame...
Sung to the rhythm of prisons dismantled,
Manacles riven and ramparts defaced...
(Hearts death-anointed yet hearing life calling...)
Ankle chains bursting and gallows unbraced...
Sung to the rhythm of arsenals burning...
Clangor of iron smashing on iron,
Turmoil of metal and dissonant baying
Of mail-sided monsters shattered asunder.
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