And star-light trickles through the red,
Like glimpses of some far-off fairy tale.
Throughout the day the steel-mill chimneys stand
Rigidly within the wind-whirled glare:
Only night can bring them supple straightness.
II
From the little, brown gate that does not see them
Because its eyes are blind with wooing soot,
An endless stream of men scatters out
Into the cool bewilderment of morning.