Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat? <br /> Then crouch within the door -- <br /> Red -- is the Fire's common tint -- <br /> But when the vivid Ore <br /> Has vanquished Flame's conditions, <br /> It quivers from the Forge <br /> Without a color, but the light <br /> Of unanointed Blaze. <br /> Least Village has its Blacksmith <br /> Whose Anvil's even ring <br /> Stands symbol for the finer Forge <br /> That soundless tugs -- within -- <br /> Re[f]ining these impatient Ores <br /> With Hammer, and with Blaze <br /> Untile the Designated Light <br /> Repudiate the Forge<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-white-heat/
