text:  And by to-morrow's sunrise amid the steaming stones A chain of gold half-melted and a few small white bones And a few rags of roasted flesh alone shall show where died-- The noble and the beautiful the baby and the bride! O fire he is a noble thing!--the sot's pipe gives him birth; Or from the livid thunder-cloud he leaps alive on earth; Or in the western wilderness devouring silently; Or on the lava rocking in the womb of Stromboli