Emily Dickinson's Poem
- The Forge and the Soul
- Mar 10, 2017
- 1 min read
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 evil ring
Stands symbol of 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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