The flames dance,
The timber crackles. Fire tufts prod the air as shafts
Of light; yet the dusk grows bleak. The blaze shifts
As the charring wood sings The song of night, dread and sleep, And the blackness of night is then complete. Of impossible red
The fire is tinted; Its spits meant to frighten, and its hisses daunt Nightly creatures coming out their dens to hunt.