Fire, the daughter of the flint: In the furnace see her glint, Like the planets burning bright In the shadows of the night. Pray inform me, if you can (Do not lie to me, my man!) Does she have a high degree In the art of alchemy? So I think; for when the breeze Howls at midnight through the trees, Then she dances up and down Madly in her scarlet gown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE BUTCHER SHOP by DAVID IGNATOW WHEN I AM DEAD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON YOUR WORLD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RAHEL TO VARNHAGEN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON BUCOLIC COMEDY: SERENADE by EDITH SITWELL THE DIORAMA PAINTER AT THE MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY by KAREN SWENSON |