The moon's an open furnace door <br />Where all can see the blast, <br />We shovel in our blackest griefs, <br />Upon that grate are cast <br />Our aching burdens, loves and fears <br />And underneath them wait <br />Paper and tar and pitch and pine <br />Called strife and blood and hate. <br /> <br />Out of it all there comes a flame, <br />A splendid widening light. <br />Sorrow is turned to mystery <br />And Death into delight.<br /><br />Vachel Lindsay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-the-coal-heaver-said/
