Granny looked up at the zombie. He was - or, technically, had been - a tall, handsome man. He still was, only now he looked like someone who had walked through a room full of cobwebs.'What's your name, dead man?' she said.
'Tis said of love that it sometimes goes, sometimes flies; runs with one, walks gravely with another; turns a third into ice, and sets a fourth in a flame: it wounds one, another it kills: like lightning it begins and ends in the same moment: it makes that fort yield at night which it besieged but in the morning; for there is no force able to resist it.
...The city fireman-the fire that suddenly bursts forth in the close-pack'd square, The arriving engines, the hoarse shouts, the nimble stepping and daring,The strong command through the fire-trumpets, the falling in line,the rise and fall of the arms forcing the water,The slender, spasmic, blue-white jets-the bringing to bear of the hooks and ladders, and their execution,The crash and cut away of connecting wood-work, or through floors, if the fire smoulders under them,The crowd with their lit faces, watching-the glare and dense shadows;....
YER OF THE VIGILE DEL FUOCO Lord who light the skyes and fill up the abysses,burn in our breast the flame of sacrifice.Strenghten the spirit of service that burn in us,make safe our eye, steady our foot,to make effective the rescue that in your name we bringto brothers in danger.When the siren shrieks in the streets of the town,listen the throb of our earths devoted to renounce.When in competition with eagles we climb to You,support us Your sored hand.When the fire irresistible flares up,burns the evil nestled in the houses of men,not the life and affections of Your sons.Lord, we are the bearer of Your Cross,and risk is our daily bread.A day without risk is not lived,because for we believers death is life,is light: in the dread of collapses, in the fury of waters,in the hell of fires.Our life is the fire, our faith is God.For Saint Barbara martyr.AMEN