Not without fire can any workman mould
The iron to his preconceived design,
Nor can the artist without fire refine
And purify from all its dross the gold;
Nor can revive the phoenix, we are told,
Except by fire. Hence if such death be mine
I hope to rise again with the divine,
Whom death augments, and time cannot make old.
O sweet, sweet death! O fortunate fire that burns
Within me still to renovate my days,
Though I am almost numbered with the dead!
If by its nature unto heaven returns
This element, me, kindled in its blaze,
Will it bear upward when my life is fled.
Fire. (sonnet Ii.)
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(2)
Poem topics: heaven, hope, life, nature, time, rise, gold, iron, divine, refine, revive, sweet, death, fire, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about Fire. (sonnet Ii.) poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Best Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow