Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills, <br />and fire made solid in the flinty stone, <br />thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fills <br />the breathless hour that lives in fire alone. <br /> <br />This valley, long ago the patient bed <br />of floods that carv'd its antient amplitude, <br />in stillness of the Egyptian crypt outspread, <br />endures to drown in noon-day's tyrant mood. <br /> <br />Behind the veil of burning silence bound, <br />vast life's innumerous busy littleness <br />is hush'd in vague-conjectured blur of sound <br />that dulls the brain with slumbrous weight, unless <br /> <br />some dazzling puncture let the stridence throng <br />in the cicada's torture-point of song.<br /><br />Christopher John Brennan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fire-in-the-heavens/
