Making a fire

Scatter a few cold cinders into the empty grate;
On these lay paper puffed into airy balloon,
Then wood—parched dry by the suns of Summer drowsy and sweet;
A flash, a flare, a flame; and a fire will be burning soon—

Fernlike, fleet, and impetuous. But unless you give heed,
It will faint, fade, fall, lose fervour, ash away out.
So is it with anger in heart and in brain; the insensate seed
Of dangerous fiery enkindling leaps into horror and rout;

But remaining untended, it dies. And the soul within
Is refreshed by the dews of sweet amity, pity's cool rain.
Not so with the flames Hell has kindled for unassoiled sin,
As soon as God's mercy would quench them, Love, weeping, lights them again.
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