'That Fire Which Consumes What It Illuminates'

Not to be printed on acid-free paper

Would this page, quickened
By these words beyond
Its former slow vitality,
Writhe agonized filled
By that fire which burns
More slowly than an oak grows,
Which weakens and will one day
Reduce it to dust?
Would it vainly try
To wipe away these lines of ink,
To regain in inanimacy
Its old peace?
Or would it only wait?