Poems (Procter)/Pictures in the Fire

by Adelaide Anne Procter

PICTURES IN THE FIRE.

AT is it you ask me, darling? All my stories, child, you know;I have no strange dreams to tell you, Pictures I have none to show.

Tell you glorious scenes of travel? Nay, my child, that cannot be,I have seen no foreign countries, Marvels none on land or sea.

Yet strange sights in truth I witness, And I gaze until I tire;Wondrous pictures, changing ever, As I look into the fire.

There, last night, I saw a cavern, Black as pitch; within it lay,Coiled in many folds, a dragon, Glaring as if turned at bay.

And a knight in dismal armor On a winged eagle came,To do battle with this dragon; And his crest was all of flame.

As I gazed the dragon faded, And, instead, sat Pluto crownedBy a lake of burning fire; Spirits dark were crouching round.

That was gone, and lo! before me, A cathedral vast and grim;I could almost hear the organ Peal along the arches dim.

As I watched the wreathèd pillars, Groves of stately palms arose,And a group of swarthy Indians Stealing on some sleeping foes.

Stay: a cataract glancing brightly Dashed and sparkled; and besideLay a broken marble monster, Mouth and eyes were staring wide.

Then I saw a maiden wreathing Starry flowers in garlands sweet;Did she see the fiery serpent That was wrapped about her feet?

That fell crashing all and vanished; And I saw two armies close,—I could almost hear the clarions, And the shouting of the foes.

They were gone; and lo! bright angels, On a barren mountain wild,Raised appealing arms to Heaven, Bearing up a little child.

And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly Gathered in my eyes sad tears,And the fiery pictures bore me Back through distant dreams of years.

Once again I tasted sorrow, With past joy was once more gay,Till the shade had gathered round me— And the fire had died away.