Near to me as perfection in the blood <br />And more mysterious far, is this, my brother: <br />A light vaulted into your solitude. <br />It studied burns lest you its rage should smother. <br />It is a flame obscure to any eyes, <br />Most like the fire that warms the deepest grave <br />(The cold grave is the deepest of our lies) <br />To which our blood is the indentured slave: <br />The fire that burns most secretly in you <br />Does not expend you hidden and alone, <br />The studious fire consumes not one, but two- <br />Me also, marrowing the self-same bone. <br />Our property in fire is death in life <br />Flawing the rocky fundament with strife.<br /><br />Allen Tate<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-of-the-blood-ii/
