Explore "The White Meat" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Dare you see a soul at the white heat?
Then crouch within the door.
Red is the fire's common tint; / But when the vivid ore
Has sated flame's conditions, / Its quivering substance plays / Without a color but the light / Of unanointed blaze.
Least village boasts its blacksmith, / Whose anvil's even din / Stands symbol for the finer forge / That soundless tugs within,
Refining these impatient ores / With hammer and with blaze, / Until the designated light / Repudiate the forge.