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Robert Laurence Binyon - The Fire
Work rating: Low

With beckoning fingers bright
 In heaven uplifted, from the darkness wakes,
 Upon a sudden, radiant Fire,
 And out of slumber shakes
 Her wild hair to the night;
 Bewitching all to run with hurried feet,
 And stand, and gaze upon her beauty dire.

 For her the shrinking gloom
 Yields, and a place prepares;
 An ample scene and a majestic room:
 Slowly the river bares
 His bank; above, in endless tier,
 Glittering out of the night the windows come
 To that bright summons; and at last appear,
 Hovering, enkindled, and unearthly clear,
 Steeple, and tower, and the suspended dome.

 But whence are these that haste
 So rapt? What throngs along the street that press,
 Raised by enchantment from the midnight waste
 That even now was sleeping echoless?
 Men without number, lured from near and far
 As by a world--portending star!
 Lo, on the bright bank without interval
 Faces in murmuring line,
 With earnest eyes that shine,
 Across the stream gaze ever; on the wall
 Faces; and dense along the bridge`s side
 Uncounted faces; softly the wheels glide
 Approaching, lest they break the burning hush
 Of all that multitude aflush
 With secret strange desire.
 Warm in the great light, as themselves afire,
 Thousands are gazing, and all silently!
 How to the throbbing glare their hearts reply,
 As tossing upward a dim--sparkled plume,
 The beautiful swift Fury scares the sky.
 The stars look changed on high,
 And red the steeples waver from the gloom.
 Distantly clear over the water swells
 The roar: the iron stanchions dribble bright,
 And faltering with strong quiver to its fall,
 Drops, slowly rushing, the great outer wall.
 From lip to lip a wondering murmur goes,
 As crouching a dark moment o`er its prey,
 Swiftly again upleaps
 The wild flame, and exulting madly glows;
 The city burns in an enchanted day.
 Still the great throng impassioned silence keeps,
 Like an adoring host in ecstasy.
 Did ever vision of the opened sky
 Entrance more deeply, or did ever voice
 Of a just wrath more terribly rejoice?
 The houseless beggar gazing has forgot
 His hunger; happy lovers` hands relax;
 They look no more into each others` eyes.
 Wrapt in its mother`s shawl
 The fretting child no longer cries.
 And that soul--piercing flame
 Melts out like wax
 The prosperous schemer`s busy schemes:
 The reveller like a visionary gleams.
 An aged wandering pair lift up their heads
 Out of old memories; to each, to all,
 Time and the strong world are no more the same,
 But threatened, perishable, trembling, brief,
 Even as themselves, an instant might destroy,
 With all the builded weight of years and grief,
 All that old hope and pleasant usage dear.
 Glories and dooms before their eyes appear;
 Upon their faces joy,
 Within their bosoms fear!

 Is it that even now
 In all, O radiant Desolation, thou
 Far off prefigurest
 To each obscurely wounded breast
 The dream of what shall be?
 And in their hearts they see
 Rushing in ardent ruin out of sight
 With all her splendour, with her streaming robe
 Of seas, and her pale peoples, the vast globe
 A sullen ember crumble into night!
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