Tossing the flaming petals
Over the silt and furnace ash--
Blown leaves, devastating,
Falling about the world...

Out of the furnace mouth--
Out of the giant mouth--
The raging, turgid, mouth--
Fall fiery blossoms
Gold with the gold of buttercups
In a field at sunset,
Or huskier gold of dandelions,
Warmed in sun-leavings,
Or changing to the paler hue
At the creamy hearts of primroses.

Charge the converter, workman--
Tired from the long night?
But the earth shall suck up darkness--
The earth that holds so much...
And out of these molten flowers,
Shall shape the heavy fruit...

Then open the valves--
Drive the fires high,
Your blossoms nurturing.
(Day is at the gates
And a young wind...)

Put by your rod, comrade,