A Charm

Take of English earth as much
As either hand may rightly clutch.
In the taking of it breathe
Prayer for all who lie beneath.
Not the great nor well-bespoke,
But the mere uncounted folk
Of whose life and death is none
Report or lamentation.
Lay that earth upon thy heart,
And thy sickness shall depart!

It shall sweeten and make whole
Fevered breath and festered soul.
It shall mightily restrain
Over-busied hand and brain.
It shall ease thy mortal strife
'Gainst the immortal woe of life,
Till thyself, restored, shall prove
By what grace the Heavens do move.

Take of English flowers these --
Spring's full-vaced primroses,
Summer's wild wide-hearted rose,
Autumn's wall-flowerr of the close,
And, thy darkness to illume,
Winter's bee-thronged ivy-bloom.
Seek and serve them where they bide
From Candlemas to Christmas-tide,
For these simples, used aright,
Can restore a failing sight.

These shall cleanse and purify
Webbed and inward-turning eye;
These shall show thee treasure hid,
Thy familiar fields amid;
And reveal (which is thy need)
Every man a King indeed!

by Rudyard Kipling

Comments (27)

a; sljfa; kljfklsjfa; jkldf
Still form a synonym for Truth. Well communicated.
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying! Great poem, thanks.
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. Beautiful poem. Thanks poet.
I'm guessing that he really was aware that every poet and literary giant knew within seconds who this valentine was addressed to. Apparently this anacrostic type device was commonly used back then. Although married to Virginia at the time, he and this also married poet Frances were having this SECRET love affair that they SUBTLY conducted with love poems flying back and forth to each other and displayed ever so QUIETLY in publications. I have to think the clever writer in Poe knew the puzzle would be deciphered in minutes- he was just deliberately flashing his scandalous relationship with 'Fanny' Osgood in front of society. And here I thought Poe was always in the grasp of a huge melancholy over women he had loved from afar and who had died - -tragically, of course. As far as the quality of this poem, I think all his other works were masterpieces and this a mere toy, a plaything, that he sported around with. Even so, it sparkles with literary excellence.
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