And about burning people---They were never wrong, the oldOld masters,
How it never stopped, it is done all the time,How you must admit there is an absoluteSeductiveness, a classic primal urge---
Is not my word like as a fire?
Oh Jephthah's daughter, ah Joan,Oh Jews and Protestants, ah Sir Thomas More,Oh Giordano Bruno, ah heretics, witches, fanatics---
Scent of magnolia sweet and freshIn the Carolina woods, a splash of gasolineAnd the sudden smell of burning flesh
Oh Jericho, ah Carthage,Oh Hiroshima,Masses at once, masses
In the fiery patriotic mind,Men stroking themselvesEyes half shut, women aroused,
You as a child first feeling that excitementAt the cave mouth---Sparks flying upward to emulate stars
You dancing to emulate the fierce commotionYour mouth greasy after eatingRunning with the dogs round the circle
The hiss, the crackle, the boom, the fragrance---The sweet savor---
You draw close enough to setTwo hard fires ablaze in your two eyesAnd they never go out---
Mean little fires,Satan's toys,God's flames.
A rapid, persistentChemicalReaction.
