Beside the throbbing beasts, the strong machines,
That crouch, tight-muscled, in the angry dark,
A file of mannikins now lifts, now beams,
Forgetful of the sun, the field, the lark.
Man serves his own inventions, that transform
Him to themselves: this lathe, this gyroscope,
Was sinuous of body as the worm
And had the grace of deer and antelope.
A heavy soot is falling in the air
Like ash of doom: it rots the human skin,
It falls upon the mouth, the eyes, the hair,
Entombing the clean core of flame within

I rise out of my sleep, I cry, O soul,
Be vehement and bright, thou fierce red coal!