The White Heat
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 even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs -- within --
Re[f]ining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Untile the Designated Light
Repudiate the Forge
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Related quotes
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
365
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 even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs—within—
Refining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Until the Designated Light
Repudiate the Forge—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Forget Me Not
forget me
not
please do
not
forget me
me not
to forget
not me
forge
t
o
not
for
get
get to forge
forge
t
to me you must
not forget
get me
get me for
i, too do not remember
a face, a name,
i am old.
older than you think.
the pain. i never had this sense
of
what joys did we share? the boulevard.
long time ago. forge me.
forget me not. forget me.
i remember not you anymore.
post
traumatic
this disorder. pity. she finally gives up this bouncy baby boy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song of the Forge
The forge-fire sets a glow in the heavens,
the hammer thunders, showering the smoke with sparks.
A ruddy smithy, the white face of the moon,
and the hammer, ringing down cold dark canyons.
Li T'ai-po
tr. Hamil
I have asked the village blacksmith to forge golden chains to tie our ankles together. I have gathered all the gay ribbons in the world to wind around and around and around and around and around and around again around our two waists.
quote by Harry Crosby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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March
Shall Thor with his hammer
Beat on the mountain,
As on an anvil,
A shackle and fetter?
Shall the lame Vulcan
Shout as he swingeth
God-like his hammer,
And forge thee a fetter?
Shall Jove, the Thunderer,
Twine his swift lightnings
With his loud thunders,
And forge thee a shackle?
'No,' shouts the Titan,
The young lion-throated;
'Thor, Vulcan, nor Jove
Cannot shackle and bind me.'
Tell what will bind thee,
Thou young world-shaker,
Up vault our oceans,
Down fall our forests.
Ship-masts and pillars
Stagger and tremble,
Like reeds by the margins
Of swift running waters.
Men's hearts at thy roaring
Quiver like harebells
Smitten by hailstones,
Smitten and shaken.
'O sages and wise men!
O bird-hearted tremblers!
Come, I will show ye
A shackle to bind me.
I, the lion-throated,
The shaker of mountains!
I, the invincible,
Lasher of oceans!
'Past the horizon,
Its ring of pale azure
Past the horizon,
Where scurry the white clouds,
There are buds and small flowers--
Flowers like snow-flakes,
Blossoms like rain-drops,
So small and tremulous.
Therein a fetter
Shall shackle and bind me,
Shall weigh down my shouting
With their delicate perfume!'
But who this frail fetter
Shall forge on an anvil,
With hammer of feather
And anvil of velvet?
Past the horizon,
In the palm of a valley,
Her feet in the grasses,
There is a maiden.
She smiles on the flowers,
They widen and redden,
She weeps on the flowers,
They grow up and kiss her.
She breathes in their bosoms,
They breathe back in odours;
Inarticulate homage,
Dumb adoration.
She shall wreathe them in shackles,
Shall weave them in fetters;
In chains shall she braid them,
And me shall she fetter.
I, the invincible;
March, the earth-shaker;
March, the sea-lifter;
March, the sky-render;
March, the lion-throated.
April the weaver
Of delicate blossoms,
And moulder of red buds--
Shall, at the horizon,
Its ring of pale azure,
Its scurry of white clouds,
Meet in the sunlight.
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Deliverance
Ride swift across the plain
Dont you turn back, keep heed in your flame
Kings with no mercy, this planet at war
Torn from enchantment, this land forevermore
Born from obsession, you cried death for light
You saw things before and after you died
Back from beyond to rule again
But this life denies you its fight to the end
Back from the dawn
Deliver us right from wrong
Kings forge the way
For your last day
You search the eyes of those
Who fear the law
Dark and light we all must keep the balance strong
One day a king will rise with the sun
The moon, and the stars
And you are he and you must die, to be
Born again, come again, once more be again the king
Back from the dawn
Deliver us right from wrong
Kings forge the way
For your last day
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad of the Moon
translated by Will Kirkland
The moon came into the forge
in her bustle of flowering nard.
The little boy stares at her, stares.
The boy is staring hard.
In the shaken air
the moon moves her amrs,
and shows lubricious and pure,
her breasts of hard tin.
"Moon, moon, moon, run!
If the gypsies come,
they will use your heart
to make white necklaces and rings."
"Let me dance, my little one.
When the gypsies come,
they'll find you on the anvil
with your lively eyes closed tight.
"Moon, moon, moon, run!
I can feelheir horses come."
"Let me be, my little one,
don't step on me, all starched and white!"
Closer comes the the horseman,
drumming on the plain.
The boy is in the forge;
his eyes are closed.
Through the olive grove
come the gypsies, dream and bronze,
their heads held high,
their hooded eyes.
Oh, how the night owl calls,
calling, calling from its tree!
The moon is climbing through the sky
with the child by the hand.
They are crying in the forge,
all the gypsies, shouting, crying.
The air is veiwing all, views all.
The air is at the viewing.
poem by Federico García Lorca
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Sonnet XL: My Heart the Anvil
My heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat;
My words the hammers fashioning my desire;
My breast the forge including all the heat;
Love is the fuel which maintains the fire;
My sighs the bellows which the flame increaseth,
Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning;
Toiling with pain, my labor never ceaseth,
In grievous passions my woes still bemoaning;
My eyes with tears against the fire striving,
Whose scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth,
But with these drops the flame again reviving,
Still more and more it to my torment turneth.
With Sisyphus thus do I roll the stone,
And turn the wheel with damned Ixion.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Morning
The light will never open sightless eyes,
It comes to those who willingly would see;
And every object,—hill, and stream, and skies,—
Rejoice within th' encircling line to be;
'Tis day,—the field is filled with busy hands,
The shop resounds with noisy workmen's din,
The traveller with his staff already stands
His yet unmeasured journey to begin;
The light breaks gently too within the breast,—
Yet there no eye awaits the crimson morn,
The forge and noisy anvil are at rest,
Nor men nor oxen tread the fields of corn,
Nor pilgrim lifts his staff,—it is no day
To those who find on earth their place to stay.
poem by Jones Very
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A hammer will shatter glass yet it can forge steel.
You cannot dream yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge yourself one.
quote by James Anthony Froude
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You cannot dream yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge yourself one.
quote by James Anthony Froude
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Steel Of Dreams
I write to forge thought
to timelessness..
as night gives way to light of day
morning rays transform
gray-scale vision
with magical, gradient, immaculate precision.
I write forging images
cold-rolled dialect
hammered for description
angles I select..
pulled red from the coals
these dreams are annealed
when shape is set,
feelings are revealed.
My anvil and hammer
transform wrought iron vision
with artistic, splendid, immaculate precision!
poem by Robert Scott Cohn
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Forever
Slowly fading blue
The eastern hollows catch
The dying sun
Night time follows
Silent and black
Mirror pool mirrors
The lonely place
Where I meet you
See your head
In the fading light
And through the dark
Your eyes shine bright
And burn like fire
Burn like fire in Cairo
Burn like fire
Burn like fire in Cairo
Shifting crimson veil
Silken hips slide
Under my hand
Swollen lips whisper my name
And I yearn
You take me in your arms
And start to burn
F.I.R.E.I.N.C.A.I.R.O
Then the heat disappears
And the mirage
Fades away...
F.I.R.E.I.N.C.A.I.R.O
Burn like a fire in Cairo
Burn like a fire
Blaze like a fire in Cairo
Blaze like a fire
Flare with a wonderful light
Like a fire in Cairo
Burn like fire
Burn like
Fire in Cairo
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blaze Of Love
We are running out of time
Weve got one foot on the rock, and one foot over the line
This love, this loves not turning back
Well I dont know about you, but me Im following that
Late at night, watching you sleep, and I know inside, Im over the edge
Chorus:
Im goin down, down, down, in a blaze of love, in a blaze of love
Im goin down, down, down, in a blaze of love, in a blaze of love
Oh you, you can run away
You can shatter my world, scatter my dreams all over the place
But i, Ive grown to love these chains
You can tear em apart but I dont wanna escape
I close my eyes, picture your smile and I know inside, Im over the edge
Im goin down, down, down, in a blaze of love, in a blaze of love
Im goin down, down, down, in a blaze of love, blaze of love
Blaze of love
Blaze of love
(guitar solo)
Oh, Im over the edge...in a blaze of love
(down, down, down, blaze of love) blaze of love
(down, down, down) in a blaze of love, in a blaze of love
Im goin down, down, down, down, down, down
In a blaze of love (blaze of love)
Down, down, down, in a blaze of love...
song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You cannot forge a hammer from featherpod fluff, nor spin spidersilk from precious copper.
The Village Blacksmith
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a might man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawney arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what'er he can,
And looks the whole word in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear the bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his might sledge,
With measure beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar.
And catch the flaming sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like his mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hands he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiing, -- rejoicing, -- sorrowing,
Onward in life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned his night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou has taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The North Star Whispers to the Blacksmith's Son
The North Star whispers: "You are one
Of those whose course no chance can change.
You blunder, but are not undone,
Your spirit-task is fixed and strange.
"When here you walk, a bloodless shade,
A singer all men else forget.
Your chants of hammer, forge and spade
Will move the prarie-village yet.
"That young, stiff-necked, reviling town
Beholds your fancies on her walls,
And paints them out or tears them down,
Or bars them from her feasting halls.
"Yet shall the fragments still remain;
Yet shall remain some watch-tower strong
That ivy-vines will not disdain,
Haunted and trembling with your song.
"Your flambeau in the dusk shall burn,
Flame high in storms, flame white and clear;
Your ghost in gleaming robes return
And burn a deathless incense here."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Beyond the Blaze...
Beyond the lines of the powerful blaze,
The maiden waits for the light.
When the warrior is past the blaze,
He knows the light is shining bright.
If the shining light comes to you,
Hope will be near,
Keep the light for yourself,
For your destiny is within, dear...
poem by Stephanie Stamm
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Listening To Agujetas
Sing, old man, those true songs of fire,
Songs that were too old for this air
Before you yourself were ever born.
Hammer those words against the night
As, once, you struck at the forge,
Feeling the sting of sparks
Cry out in triumph from its fierce iron.
Let the feet of the dancers play them too,
Your anguished words, your dark-throated songs:
Hammers against the fire within,
Fire against night, night against despair.
poem by Richard Lord
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