The Fire

 

There is a flame inside you 

That never quite goes out -

Though sometimes it burns low,

Low and smoking,

Singeing the core of you 

With bladelike heat;

 

And blowing on it may not help,

Any more than hoping

It flares up of its own accord;

And you may feel that nothing will help,

And for a moment or two

You may be right.

 

Then something changes.

You take a walk, or a new song plays,

And suddenly the old fire wakes,

Fierce again, young,

Leaping like a waterfall,

And all the dull dross of existence 

Is fed to the furnace 

Of your blazing heart.