365 <br /> <br />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 />Refining these impatient Ores <br />With Hammer, and with Blaze <br />Until the Designated Light <br />Repudiate the Forge—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dare-you-see-a-soul-at-the-white-heat/
