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The Spike or Victoria University College Review June 1926

Camp Fires

Camp Fires.

This is the tryst I keep, through nights of rain
With summer days long fled;
Beside my fire of brazing logs, to dream
Of little fires instead;
Of little fires made friendly by the gloom
Of forests steeped in night.
Bright flames that through the long warm evening knew
No need save to delight;
The crimson buds that for a season bloomed
Within the wilderness,
Kindled by hands that sought for days of toil
A moment of redress.
Of these I dream, and happy hearts of men
Who keep their childhood proof
Against the years, by fostering no claim
To four walls and a roof.
Their friendly voices talking in the dark,
The calm simplicity
Of white stars looking down—these have I known,
And these come back to me,
And all the little camp fires are as eyes
That blink across the gloom
Of friendless winter nights—to leave a dream
Of summer in my room.

—Helen Frazee-Bower.