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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=448118" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fire</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=448118" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The old men of the world have made a fire<br>To warm their trembling hands.<br>They poke the young men in.<br>The young men burn like withes.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=448118" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">If one run a little way,<br>The old men are wrath.<br>They catch him and bind him and throw him again to the flames.<br>Green withes burn slow…<br>And the smoke of the young men's torment<br>Rises round and sheer as the trunk of a pillared oak,<br>And the darkness thereof spreads over the sky….</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=448118" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Green withes burn slow…<br>And the old men of the world sit round the fire<br>And rub their hands….<br>But the smoke of the young men's torment<br>Ascends up for ever and ever.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Lola+Ridge">Lola Ridge</a></strong></div>

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