Yet, though he walked with dreaming eyes agaze, As, deep within a mound of slag, a core Of unseen fire may smoulder many days, Till suddenly the whole heap glow ablaze, That seemed, but now, dead cinder, grey and cold, Life smouldered in his heart. The fire he fed Day-long in the tall furnace just ahead From that frail gallery slung against the sky Had burned through all his being, till the ore Glowed in him. Though no surface-stream of gold Quick-molten slag of speech was his to spill Unceasingly, the burning metal still Seethed in him, from the broken furnace-side To burst at any moment in a tide Of white-hot molten iron o’er the mould...
But still he spoke no word as they strolled on Into the early-gathering Winter night: And, as she watched the leaping furnace-light, She had no thought of smouldering fires unseen... The daylong clattering whirr of her machine Hummed in her ears again--the straining thread And stabbing needle starting through her head-- Until the last dull gleam of day was gone...
When, all at once, upon the right, A crackling crash, a blinding flare... A shower of cinders through the air... A grind of blocks of slag aslide... And, far above them, in the night, The looming heap had opened wide About a fiery, gaping pit... And, startled and aghast at it, With clasping hands they stood astare, And gazed upon the awful glare: And, as she felt him clutch her hand, She seemed to know her heart’s desire, For evermore with him to stand In that enkindling blaze of fire... When, suddenly, he left her side; And started scrambling up the heap: And, looking up, with stifled cry, She saw, against the glowing sky, Almost upon the pit’s red brink, A little lad, stock-still with fright Before the blazing pit of dread Agape before him in the night, Where, playing castles on the height Since noon, he’d fallen, spent, asleep And dreaming he was home in bed...
With brain afire, too strained to think, She watched her lover climb and leap From jag to jag Of broken slag... And still he only seemed to creep... She felt that he would never reach That little lad, though he should climb Until the very end of time... And, as she looked, the burning breach Gaped suddenly more wide... The slag again began to slide, And crash into the pit, Until the dazed lad’s feet Stood on the edge of it. She saw him reel and fall... And thought him done for ... then Her lover, brave and tall, Against the glare and heat, A very fire-bright god of men! He stooped ... and now she knew the lad Was safe with Robert, after all.