English poem
THE SONG OF IRON
by Lola Ridge (1873–1941)
Not yet hast Thou sounded Thy clangorous music, Whose strings are under the mountains... Not yet hast Thou spoken The blooded, implacable Word...
But I hear in the Iron singing— In the triumphant roaring of the steam and pistons pounding— Thy barbaric exhortation... And the blood leaps in my arteries, unreproved, Answering Thy call... All my spirit is inundated with the tumultuous passion of Thy Voice, And sings exultant with the Iron, For now I know I too am of Thy Chosen...
Oh fashioned in fire— Needing flame for Thy ultimate word— Behold me, a cupola Poured to Thy use!
Heed not my tremulous body That faints in the grip of Thy gauntlet. Break it... and cast it aside... But make of my spirit That dares and endures Thy crucible... Pour through my soul Thy molten, world-whelming song.
... Here at Thy uttermost gate Like a new Mary, I wait...