THE FIRE-LADDIE, LOVE
The door has a bolt.
The window a grate.
O friend we are trapped
In the factory, Fate.
The flames pierce the ceiling.
The brands heap the floor.
But listen, dear heart:
A song at the door!
The forcing of bolts,
The hewing of oak!
A sword breaks the lock
With one cleaving stroke.
Naked and fair
Unscathed and wild
Behold he comes swiftly,
An elfin-eyed child.
The fire-laddie, Love,
Is our hero this night,
As he walks on the embers
His plumes are cloud white.
He sings of the lightning
And snow of desire,
His step parts the veil
Of the factory fire.
Oh his chubby child hands,
Oh his long curls agleam,
From out their soft tossing
Comes thunder and dream.
Our fire-laddie, Love,
At the last moment here,
To bear us away
To a road without fear,
To the dark, to the wind,
To the mist, to the dawn,
Where the lilac blooms nod
By the rain renewed lawn.
To a land of deep knowledge
Our tired feet are led,
While the stars of new morning
Still glint overhead.
Sweet Love walks between us
With silences long.
His step is the music.
The day is the song.