The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Fire

by Dorothea Mackellar

For works with similar titles, see Fire.

FIRE

This life that we call our own
Is neither strong nor free:
A flame in the wind of death
It trembles ceaselessly.

And this is all we can do—
To use our little light
Before, in the piercing wind,
It flickers into night.

To yield the heat of the flame,
To grudge not, but to give
Whatever we have of strength
That one more flame may live.