Excerpt from Collected Verse of Rudyard Kipling
Men make them fires on the hearth
Each under his roof-tree,
And the Four Winds that rule the earth
They blow the smokes 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.
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