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!