Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
 |
 |
Faces in the Fire.
|
|
 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
165
Faces in the Fire.
I sit and brood beside my fire,
Watching the red coals change their shape:
Through waving flames rise gates and towers,
Black eyeballs stare, and hot mouths gape;
While dreaming I spin rhyme on rhyme
Of dewfall and the Summer-time.
Watching the red coals change their shape:
Through waving flames rise gates and towers,
Black eyeballs stare, and hot mouths gape;
While dreaming I spin rhyme on rhyme
Of dewfall and the Summer-time.
The red flames stir like dragon stings,
Or Devil's arrows barbed with red;
I stab the fire's heart—hot the rain
That falls from veins that branch and spread;
And then I doze, or spin a rhyme
Of dewfall and green Summer-time.
Or Devil's arrows barbed with red;
I stab the fire's heart—hot the rain
That falls from veins that branch and spread;
And then I doze, or spin a rhyme
Of dewfall and green Summer-time.
So pass my midnights: shadows dance
Upon the wainscot silently;
They shape the future—bow and point—
I let the sable creatures be;
And careless sit and spin my rhyme
Of dewfall and the Summer-time.
Upon the wainscot silently;
166
I let the sable creatures be;
And careless sit and spin my rhyme
Of dewfall and the Summer-time.
Sometimes from dark nooks in the room
Glides forth my oldest skeleton,—
Comes silent and sits by the fire,
His hands upon his knees of bone;
While shuddering still I weave my rhyme
Of dewfall and hot Summer-time.
Glides forth my oldest skeleton,—
Comes silent and sits by the fire,
His hands upon his knees of bone;
While shuddering still I weave my rhyme
Of dewfall and hot Summer-time.
I and that dreaded friend of mine
Sit staring at the crimson fire:
Whate'er I do, he moveth not,
Watching the midnight's funeral pyre,
As through long lonely hours I rhyme
Of dewfall and sweet Summer-time.
Sit staring at the crimson fire:
Whate'er I do, he moveth not,
Watching the midnight's funeral pyre,
As through long lonely hours I rhyme
Of dewfall and sweet Summer-time.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |