There was a fire once on a hill in Spain
(it might as well be Spain, as countries go);
it raged through wind and snow, through sleet and rain,
and what its source was, no one seemed to know.
The flames' bright glow could be seen miles away:
a red-orange haze that simmered o'er the trees.
It burned night after night, day after day;
the smoke, like sandalwood, incensed the breeze.
The miracle inflamed more than the wood,
for people living near that magic pyre
swore its undying blazes boiled the blood,
consumed the brain and heart with God's own fire--
And should that flame die out, the world would end!
But ah--it never did go out, my friend.
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