FIRE

(Revised Version[1])

Gold-crownedwith flamesBehind its barsThe coal:And over the chimneyIn a black holeSpark-children playingTheir mazy gamesAnd mimic-mighty wars:Apple-logs greenCrossed cunningly:Smoke-veils betweenDrifting and lifting....O fire, my glee,Poor man’s friend,Food, company,Warmth and wine in one:May I never needShillings to spendOn apple-logsAnd coals to feedThee,Bright-faced wonder of children and me!

Gold-crownedwith flames

Behind its bars

The coal:

And over the chimney

In a black hole

Spark-children playing

Their mazy games

And mimic-mighty wars:

Apple-logs green

Crossed cunningly:

Smoke-veils between

Drifting and lifting....

O fire, my glee,Poor man’s friend,Food, company,Warmth and wine in one:May I never needShillings to spendOn apple-logsAnd coals to feedThee,Bright-faced wonder of children and me!

O fire, my glee,

Poor man’s friend,

Food, company,

Warmth and wine in one:

May I never need

Shillings to spend

On apple-logs

And coals to feed

Thee,

Bright-faced wonder of children and me!

Warm at thy feetI hearSpeech more wise, more dearAnd clear than sage’s:More sweet than pagesOf any poet,Showing never yetSmoke-veils of blueIn golden places,Soot too,And facesIn fire, and sparkling gayLittle-lived glad children of fire at play.

Warm at thy feet

I hear

Speech more wise, more dear

And clear than sage’s:

More sweet than pages

Of any poet,

Showing never yet

Smoke-veils of blue

In golden places,

Soot too,

And faces

In fire, and sparkling gay

Little-lived glad children of fire at play.

What lore forlorn,What tale of tales,When man’s poor stockOf wisdom failsIn Fire’s cave,Is born!Here Jack shall knock,—That hero braveOn the giant’s door ...With rumbling snoreThe monster turnsFrom sleep,And yawns....But the sheepOf Little Bo-Peep(By magic quickTo wolves now turning)Are following Jack.Hark, crackle crack!(Is it fire burning?)They crunch, they lickUp “Fe, Fo, Fum.”Sucking his thumbLittle Jack HornerCreeps from the cornerWhere he had hiddenBehind a pieFrom the giant’s eye.Now doors as biddenDo open fly,And in they throng—The prisoners allWith a merry song.Here’s Old King ColeTo lead the ball!How merrilyHis fiddlers threeStrike up the airThat pleases his soul—A mighty soundAs of wind in chimneysWhen trees are bare....Round and roundIn smoke-wreaths whirlPrince, Shepherd-girl,King, goose-girl, queen,All who have beenFor joy of children,And company,Since tales began:All that a manCan believe and beNever again;Save when in fire(Apple-logs greenCrossed cunningly)He sees it plain,As I have seen,This thronged night-fire:Such light that shinesThrough Poetry andSmall tumbling strainOf song, or from a window-paneAs daylight fails,As evening palesIn a sweet landShadowed with pines,Peopled with children-haunted pinesMurmuring fairy-tales.

What lore forlorn,

What tale of tales,

When man’s poor stock

Of wisdom fails

In Fire’s cave,

Is born!

Here Jack shall knock,

—That hero brave

On the giant’s door ...

With rumbling snore

The monster turns

From sleep,

And yawns....

But the sheep

Of Little Bo-Peep

(By magic quick

To wolves now turning)

Are following Jack.

Hark, crackle crack!

(Is it fire burning?)

They crunch, they lick

Up “Fe, Fo, Fum.”

Sucking his thumb

Little Jack Horner

Creeps from the corner

Where he had hidden

Behind a pie

From the giant’s eye.

Now doors as biddenDo open fly,And in they throng—The prisoners allWith a merry song.Here’s Old King ColeTo lead the ball!How merrilyHis fiddlers threeStrike up the airThat pleases his soul—A mighty soundAs of wind in chimneysWhen trees are bare....Round and roundIn smoke-wreaths whirlPrince, Shepherd-girl,King, goose-girl, queen,All who have beenFor joy of children,And company,Since tales began:All that a manCan believe and beNever again;Save when in fire(Apple-logs greenCrossed cunningly)He sees it plain,As I have seen,This thronged night-fire:Such light that shinesThrough Poetry andSmall tumbling strainOf song, or from a window-paneAs daylight fails,As evening palesIn a sweet landShadowed with pines,Peopled with children-haunted pinesMurmuring fairy-tales.

Now doors as bidden

Do open fly,

And in they throng—

The prisoners all

With a merry song.

Here’s Old King Cole

To lead the ball!

How merrily

His fiddlers three

Strike up the air

That pleases his soul—

A mighty sound

As of wind in chimneys

When trees are bare....

Round and round

In smoke-wreaths whirl

Prince, Shepherd-girl,

King, goose-girl, queen,

All who have been

For joy of children,

And company,

Since tales began:

All that a man

Can believe and be

Never again;

Save when in fire

(Apple-logs green

Crossed cunningly)

He sees it plain,

As I have seen,

This thronged night-fire:

Such light that shines

Through Poetry and

Small tumbling strain

Of song, or from a window-pane

As daylight fails,

As evening pales

In a sweet land

Shadowed with pines,

Peopled with children-haunted pines

Murmuring fairy-tales.

[1]First version was published inDucks, and other Verses, 1919.

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