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Rudyard Kipling
Edgar Allan Poe
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Rudyard Kipling

Rudyard Kipling

The Fires

(Prelude to collected Verse)
Men make them fires on the hearth
  Each under his roof-tree,
And the Four Winds that rule the earth
  They blow the smoke to me.

Across the high hills and the sea
  And all the changeful skies,
The Four Winds blow the smoke to me
  Till the tears are in my eyes.

Until the tears are in my eyes
  And my heart is wellnigh broke
For thinking on old memories
  That gather in the smoke.

With every shift of every wind
  The homesick memories come,
From every quarter of mankind
  Where I have made me a home.

Four times a fire against the cold
  And a roof against the rain --
Sorrow fourfold and joy fourfold
  The Four Winds bring again!

How can I answer which is best
  Of all the fires that burn?
I have been too often host or guest
  At every fire in turn.

How can I turn from any fire,
  On any man's hearthstone?
I know the wonder and desire
  That went to build my own!

How can I doubt man's joy or woe
  Where'er his house-fires shine.
Since all that man must undergo
  Will visit me at mine?

Oh, you Four Winds that blow so strong
  And know that his is true,
Stoop for a little and carry my song
  To all the men I knew!

Where there are fires against the cold,
  Or roofs against the rain --
With love fourfold and joy fourfold,
  Take them my songs again!

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