Talk to me, Fire, for I am solitary
And in the room no voice but yours to cheer:
Your little countless elfin whispers carry
Companionable comfort to the ear;
And else, my Fire, I still must only hearken
To those knell-voices in the blood, the dim
Cries of the blood, perceived when eyelids darken
Singing a round of Death from limb to limb.
Chuckle and lick your lips about the nugget
Of bright black meat to glut your glowing maw,
(Simple the lust if crumbs of coal can drug it;)
And then fulfilled your quiet breathing draw
Wrapped round in yon red embers sleeps my fancy
Healthy and calm as the Eleusinian brat.
O whispered spells! could ever necromancy
Call up the roll of dreams and dreams, like that?
Make me the music, not for ears unwary,
The planes and crickets made in Academe;
Talk to me, Fire, for I am solitary,
And send me dreams, if hope's a waking dream.