The old men of the world have made a fire <br />To warm their trembling hands. <br />They poke the young men in. <br />The young men burn like withes. <br /> <br />If one run a little way, <br />The old men are wrath. <br />They catch him and bind him and throw him again to the flames. <br />Green withes burn slow… <br />And the smoke of the young men's torment <br />Rises round and sheer as the trunk of a pillared oak, <br />And the darkness thereof spreads over the sky…. <br /> <br />Green withes burn slow… <br />And the old men of the world sit round the fire <br />And rub their hands…. <br />But the smoke of the young men's torment <br />Ascends up for ever and ever.<br /><br />Lola Ridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fire-26/
