Looking for Firewood
by R. G. EVERSON
A LITTLE while some fires are high and clear.
Come, hunt for wood — bay, laurel, palm, vined oak.
We’ll ponder on various kinds of rich warmth raised
From different fibres, dazzlements that rear
Strange as in Lincoln who middle-aged awoke,
Or that one century when Athens blazed,
Florence but half that long, and in the mind
Of Keats the one great year when seas would burn.
Searching along small rivers we may find
Timbers with flames like Arno’s. Who can learn
How Avon wood caught well? All fires die,
But some for a little while are clear and high.
Come, hunt for wood — bay, laurel, palm, vined oak.
We’ll ponder on various kinds of rich warmth raised
From different fibres, dazzlements that rear
Strange as in Lincoln who middle-aged awoke,
Or that one century when Athens blazed,
Florence but half that long, and in the mind
Of Keats the one great year when seas would burn.
Searching along small rivers we may find
Timbers with flames like Arno’s. Who can learn
How Avon wood caught well? All fires die,
But some for a little while are clear and high.