A CHARM

O wood, burn bright; O flame, be quick;

O smoke, draw cleanly up the flue —

My lady chose your every brick

And sets her dearest hopes on you!

Logs cannot burn, nor tea be sweet,

Nor white bread turn to crispy toast,

Until the charm be made complete

By love, to lay the sooty ghost.

And then, dear books, dear waiting chairs,

Dear china and mahogany,

Draw close, for on the happy stairs

My brown-eyed girl comes down for tea!