Explore Poems GO!

Fire. (Sonnet Ii.)

Rating: 2.9

Not without fire can any workman mould
The iron to his preconceived design,
Nor can the artist without fire refine
And purify from all its dross the gold;
Nor can revive the phoenix, we are told,
Except by fire. Hence if such death be mine
I hope to rise again with the divine,
Whom death augments, and time cannot make old.
O sweet, sweet death! O fortunate fire that burns
Within me still to renovate my days,

Though I am almost numbered with the dead!
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM