They're burning off at the Rampadells,
  The tawny flames uprise
With greedy licking around the trees:
  The hot breath sears our eyes

From cores already grown furnace-hot;
  The logs are well alight;
We fling more wood where the flameless heart
  Is throbbing red and white.

The fire bites deep in that beating heart,
  The creamy smoke-wreaths ooze
From cracks and knot-holes along the trunk
  To melt in greys and blues.