“Fire In The HeavensFire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,and fire made solid in the flinty stone,thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fillsthe breathless hour that lives in fire alone.This valley, long ago the patient bedof floods that carv'd its antient amplitude,in stillness of the Egyptian crypt outspread,endures to drown in noon-day's tyrant mood.Behind the veil of burning silence bound,vast life's innumerous busy littlenessis hush'd in vague-conjectured blur of soundthat dulls the brain with slumbrous weight, unlesssome dazzling puncture let the stridence throngin the cicada's torture-point of song.”
“Fire In The HeavensFire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,and fire made solid in the flinty stone,thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fillsthe breathless hour that lives in fire alone.This valley, long ago the patient bedof floods that carv'd its antient amplitude,in stillness of the Egyptian crypt outspread,endures to drown in noon-day's tyrant mood.Behind the veil of burning silence bound,vast life's innumerous busy littlenessis hush'd in vague-conjectured blur of soundthat dulls the brain with slumbrous weight, unlesssome dazzling puncture let the stridence throngin the cicada's torture-point of song.”
Christopher John Brennan
“Fire In The HeavensFire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,and fire made solid in the flinty stone,thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fillsthe breathless hour that lives in fire alone.This valley, long ago the patient bedof floods that carv'd its antient amplitude,in stillness of the Egyptian crypt outspread,endures to drown in noon-day's tyrant mood.Behind the veil of burning silence bound,vast life's innumerous busy littlenessis hush'd in vague-conjectured blur of soundthat dulls the brain with slumbrous weight, unlesssome dazzling puncture let the stridence throngin the cicada's torture-point of song.”
Christopher John Brennan, XXI Poems, 1893, 1897: Towards the SourceAll in One Creative & Marketing Platform to tell stories at scale
