Fires - Book 3: The Hare, and Other Tales
“ Among bleak hills of mounded slag they walked,'Neath sullen evening skies that seemed to sagO'er-burdened by the belching smoke, and lieUpon their aching foreheads, dense and dank,Till both felt youth within them fail and flag--Even as the flame which shot a fiery ragA fluttering moment through the murky skyAbove the black blast-furnaces, then sankAgain beneath the iron bell close-bound--And it was all that they could do to dragThemselves along, 'neath that dead-weight of smoke,Over the cinder-blasted, barren ground. ”
