The fire burns low
Where it has burned ages ago,
Sinks and sighs
As it has done to a hundred eyes
At the last cold smokeless glow.
Here men sat
Lonely and watched the golden grate
Turn at length black;
Heard the cooling iron crack:
Watching the shadows come and go.
And still the hiss
I hear, the soft fire’s sob and kiss,
And still it burns
And the bright gold to crimson turns,
And the fire shadows larger grow.
O dark-cheeked fire,
Wasting like spent heart’s desire,
You that were gold,
And now crimson will soon be cold–
Like moon-shadows on new snow.
They that watched your shadows fall.
But now they come
Rising around me, grave and dumb….
Come as the fire-shadows go.
And stay, stay,
Though all the fire sink cold as clay,
Ancestral wise Familiars–till,
Dawn’s wild fires through the casement glow.