[with fire fire burning grand]
I do not pretend to comprehend
the gleaming graciousness at hand
that in refinement takes a brand
of ore, so brandished bland
and blackened in its vein,
plucks it from its soiled land,
reduces it to comprehend
nothing but its filthy stand
in fire fire burning grand,
mercy but a thought rescind
to Scorious slag it is (I am).
And when
unraveling strand from strand
elemental sin ascends, then
quivering drops this smallest win
prostrate to the base condemned,
Scorious slag then gold I am.
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