Over against the north side of the town
They walked by dog and alley, yet saw only
Ideas of seraphs hail and praise them keenly
For the coming time’s bright fire; when they came down
Those streets great size had rapt and held them grown
Higher than the sweet towers with their birds that thinly
Sang away night, then hushed, corrupt and lonely
In the cruel weathers of a difficult dawn.
Everything was quiet when that fire rose redly
Too large, desolate even to see,
Promising death to the day and a more deadly
Night soon when the only happy ones might be
These first dead free in their terrible dream of grace
Burning high and ambiguous in the burning face.