This life that we call our own
Is neither strong nor free;
A flame in the wind of death,
It trembles ceaselessly.
And this 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.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Fire by Dorothea Mackeller )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1886 - 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(April 13,1939 - August 30, 2013)
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
- A Child's Christmas in Wales, Dylan Thomas
- I Am the Only Being Whose Doom, Emily Jane Brontë
Poem of the Day
- Graduate school first semester: so here .., Cheryl Savageau
- Toll of human safety., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- I am not ready to say I am unfortunate, gajanan mishra
- Yesterday's Snow, Marilyn Lott
- Ego, Denise Duhamel
- Life and Heaven, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Rain Song, Khaled Mattawa
- Childhood Stories, Matthew Rohrer
- Christmas, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- My Pretty Rose Tree, Luo Zhihai