Fire Stone
Awakened by a flaming eye And blindness but for vivid red, I lie in reveries of light, Encompassed in this eastern dye And as the morning rears its head My feeling soars and wakens sight. Through windowed pane I fix my gaze Upon the solid forms of day; The flowing branch, the sea of leaves: No architect in skill could phrase The beauty of this fresh display For wood is dead but nature breathes Sign in to see full entry.