Rudyard Kipling

Jack Barrett went to Quetta Because they told him to. He left his wife at Simla On three-fourths his monthly screw. Jack Barrett died at Quetta Ere the next month’s pay he drew. Jack

1915 Whence comest thou, Gehazi, So reverend to behold, In scarlet and in ermines And chain of England’s gold?” “From following after Naaman To tell him all is well, Whereby my zeal hath made

Oh ye who hold the written clue To all save all unwritten things, And, half a league behind, pursue The accomplished Fact with flouts and flings, Look! To your knee your baby brings The

1914 He passed in the very battle-smoke Of the war that he had descried. Three hundred mile of cannon spoke When the Master-Gunner died. He passed to the very sound of the guns; But,

(Mobile Columns of the Boer War) Out o’ the wilderness, dusty an’ dry (Time, an’ ‘igh time to be trekkin’ again!) Oo is it ‘eads to the Detail Supply? A sectioin, a pompom, an’

“Behold there is a woman that hath a familiar spirit at En-dor.” I Samuel, xxviii. 7. The road to En-dor is easy to tread For Mother or yearning Wife. There, it is sure, we

“Below the Mill Dam” Traffics and Discoveries Thrones, Powers, Dominions, Peoples, Kings, Are changing ‘neath our hand. Our fathers also see these things But they do not understand. By they are by with mirth

Wot makes the soldier’s ‘eart to penk, wot makes ‘im to perspire? It isn’t standin’ up to charge nor lyin’ down to fire; But it’s everlastin’ waitin’ on a everlastin’ road For the commissariat

Rome never looks where she treads. Always her heavy hooves fall On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads; And Rome never heeds when we bawl. Her sentries pass on that is all, And

I’m just in love with all these three, The Weald and the Marsh and the Down country. Nor I don’t know which I love the most, The Weald or the Marsh or the white

(EDWARD VII.) 1910 Who in the Realm to-day lays down dear life for the sake of a land more dear? And, unconcerned for his own estate, toils till the last grudged sands have run?

What is a woman that you forsake her, And the hearth-fire and the home-acre, To go with the old grey Widow-maker? She has no house to lay a guest in But one chill bed

“The Brushwood Boy” The Day’s Work Over the edge of the purple down, Where the single lamplight gleams, Know ye the road to the Merciful Town That is hard by the Sea of Dreams

Three things make earth unquiet And four she cannot brook The godly Agur counted them And put them in a book Those Four Tremendous Curses With which mankind is cursed; But a Servant when

Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah heave her short again! Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl. Loose all sail, and brace your yards back and full Ready jib to

If you’ve ever stole a pheasant-egg be’ind the keeper’s back, If you’ve ever snigged the washin’ from the line, If you’ve ever crammed a gander in your bloomin’ ‘aversack, You will understand this little

The Doorkeepers of Zion, They do not always stand In helmet and whole armour, With halberds in their hand; But, being sure of Zion, And all her mysteries, They rest awhile in Zion, Sit

(Spring begins in southern England on the 14th April, on which date the Old Woman lets the Cuckoo out of her basket at Heathfield Fair locally known as Heffle Cuckoo Fair.) Tell it to

There runs a road by Merrow Down A grassy track to-day it is An hour out Guildford town, Above the river Wey it is. Here, when they heard the hors-bells ring, The ancient Britons

1919 As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race, Make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place. ‘eering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall, And the

‘Less you want your toes trod of you’d better get back at once, For the bullocks are walking two by two, The byles are walking two by two, And the elephants bring the guns.

For the sake of him who showed One wise Frog the Jungle-Road, Keep the Law the Man-Pack make For thy blind old Baloo’s sake! Clean or tainted, hot or stale, Hold it as it

The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part; But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart. And because she lost her

You call yourself a man, For all you used to swear, An’ Leave me, as you can, My certain shame to bear? I’ear! You do not care You done the worst you know. I

Love and Death once ceased their strife At the Tavern of Man’s Life. Called for wine, and threw alas! Each his quiver on the grass. When the bout was o’er they found Mingled arrows

Oh, glorious are the guarded heights Where guardian souls abide Self-exiled from our gross delights Above, beyond, outside: An ampler arc their spirit swings Commands a juster view We have their word for all

“Where have you been this while away, Johnnie, Johnnie?” ‘Long with the rest on a picnic lay, Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! They called us out of the barrack-yard To Gawd knows where from Gosport

“As easy as A B C” A Diversity of Creatures” Whether the State can loose and bind In Heaven as well as on Earth: If it be wiser to kill mankind Before or after

Me that ‘ave been what I’ve been Me that ‘ave gone where I’ve gone Me that ‘ave seen what I’ve seen ‘Ow can I ever take on With awful old England again, An’ ‘ouses

Once, after long-drawn revel at The Mermaid, He to the overbearing Boanerges Jonson, uttered (if half of it were liquor, Blessed be the vintage!) Saying how, at an alehouse under Cotswold, He had made

We were all one heart and one race When the Abbey trumpets blew. For a moment’s breathing-space We had forgotten you. Now you return to your honoured place Panting to shame us anew. We

Your jar of Virginny Will cost you a guinea, Which you reckon too much by five shillings or ten; But light your churchwarden And judge it according, When I’ve told you the troubles of

Brethren, how shall it fare with me When the war is laid aside, If it be proven that I am he For whom a world has died? If it be proven that all my

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square, And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by the hair A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried

My New-Cut ashlar takes the light Where crimson-blank the windows flare. By my own work before the night, Great Overseer, I make my prayer. If there be good in that I wrought Thy Hand

She dropped the bar, she shot the bolt, she fed the fire anew For she heard a whimper under the sill and a great grey paw came through. The fresh flame comforted the hut

I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it; I’ve rouged an’ I’ve ranged in my time; I’ve ‘ad my pickin’ o’ seethearts, An’ four o’ the lot was prime. One was an ‘arf-caste widow,

(From The Jungle Book) Now this is the Law of the Jungle as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall

We’ve drunk to the Queen God bless her! We’ve drunk to our mothers’ land; We’ve drunk to our English brother, (But he does not understand); We’ve drunk to the wide creation, And the Cross

If you stop to find out what your wages will be And how they will clothe and feed you, Willie, my son, don’t you go on the Sea. For the Sea will never need

There’s no sense in going further it’s the edge of cultivation,” So they said, and I believed it broke my land and sowed my crop Built my barns and strung my fences in the

‘Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad, In thy house or my house is half the world’s hoard; By my house and thy house hangs all the world’s fate, On thy

1902 Who hath desired the Sea? the sight of salt wind-hounded The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber win hounded? The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless,

Prophets have honour all over the Earth, Except in the village where they were born, Where such as knew them boys from birth Nature-ally hold ’em in scorn. When Prophets are naughty and young

1898 Being a translation of the song that was made by a Mohammedanschoolmaster of Bengal Infantry (some time on service at Suakim)when he heard that Kitchener was taking money from the English tobuild a

The strength of twice three thousand horse That seeks the single goal; The line that holds the rending course, The hate that swings the whole; The stripped hulls, slinking through the gloom, At gaze

I was Lord of Cities very sumptuously builded. Seven roaring Cities paid me tribute from far. Ivory their outposts were the guardrooms of them gilded, And garrisoned with Amazons invincible in war. All the

I have eaten your bread and salt. I have drunk your water and wine. In deaths ye died I have watched beside, And the lives ye led were mine. Was there aught that I

There’s a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield, And the ricks stand grey to the sun, Singing: “Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the dover, “And

There was no one like ‘im, ‘Orse or Foot, Nor any o’ the Guns I knew; An’ because it was so, why, o’ course ‘e went an’ died, Which is just what the best

So we settled it all when the storm was done As comfy as comfy could be; And I was to wait in the barn, my dears, Because I was only three. And Teddy would

Beneath the deep veranda’s shade, When bats begin to fly, I sit me down and watch alas! Another evening die. Blood-red behind the sere ferash She rises through the haze. Sainted Diana! can that

BOMBAY Royal and Dower-royal, I the Queen Fronting thy richest sea with richer hands A thousand mills roar through me where I glean All races from all lands. CALCUTTA Me the Sea-captain loved, the

Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised, With idiot moons and stars retracting stars? Creep thou between thy coming’s all unnoised. Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars. Heir to these

We’re marchin’ on relief over Injia’s sunny plains, A little front o’ Christmas-time an’ just be’ind the Rains; Ho! get away you bullock-man, you’ve ‘eard the bugle blowed, There’s a regiment a-comin’ down the

(Non-commissioned Officers in Charge of Prisoners) When by the labor of my ‘ands I’ve ‘elped to pack a transport tight With prisoners for foreign lands, I ain’t transported with delight. I know it’s only

One from the ends of the earth gifts at an open door Treason has much, but we, Mother, thy sons have more! From the whine of a dying man, from the snarl of a

Ere the seamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was engaged to marry An attractive girl at Tunbridge, whom he called “my little Carrie.” Sleary’s pay was very modest; Sleary was the other way. Who can

Away by the lands of the Japanee Where the paper lanterns glow And the crews of all the shipping drink In the house of Blood Street Joe, At twilight, when the landward breeze Brings

Once red ripple came to land In the golden sunset burning Lapped against a maiden’s hand, By the ford returning. Dainty foot and gentle breast Here, across, be glad and rest. “Maiden, wait,” the

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E. Stands at the top of the tree; And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led To the hoisting of Potiphar G. Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., Is seven

We’re foot slog slog slog sloggin’ over Africa Foot foot foot foot sloggin’ over Africa (Boots boots boots boots movin’ up an’ down again!) There’s no discharge in the war! Seven six eleven five

Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool, I walks in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule, With seventy gunners be’ind me, an’ never a beggar forgets It’s

A. D. 980-1016 It is always a temptation to an armed and agile nation To call upon a neighbour and to say: “We invaded you last night we are quite prepared to fight, Unless

Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed, To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their need, He sent a word to the peoples, who

Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my sould going out from afar? Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautions shikar? Have I met you and passed

And reports the derelict Mary Pollock still at sea. SHIPPING NEWS. I was the staunchest of our fleet Till the sea rose beneath our feet Unheralded, in hatred past all measure. Into his pits

“The Mother Hive” Actions and Reactions A Farmer of the Augustan Age Perused in Virgil’s golden page The story of the secret won From Proteus by Cyrene’s son How the dank sea-god showed the

I This is the sorrowful story Told when the twilight fails And the monkeys walk together Holding their neighbours’ tails: “Our fathers lived in the forest, Foolish people were they, They went down to

In Lowestoft a boat was laid, Mark well what I do say! And she was built for the herring-trade, But she has gone a-rovin’, a-rovin’, a-rovin’, The Lord knows where! They gave her Government

The dark eleventh hour Draws on and sees us sold To every evil power We fought against of old. Rebellion, rapine hate Oppression, wrong and greed Are loosed to rule our fate, By England’s

(A. D. 406) “A Centurion of the Thirtieth” Puck of Pook’s Hill My father’s father saw it not, And I, belike, shall never come To look on that so-holly spot That very Rome Crowned

Men make them fires on the hearth Each under his roof-tree, And the Four Winds that rule the earth They blow the smoke to me. Across the high hills and the sea And all

1896 They christened my brother of old And a saintly name he bears They gave him his place to hold At the head of the belfry-stairs, Where the minister-towers stand And the breeding kestrels

Our Fathers in a wondrous age, Ere yet the Earth was small, Ensured to us a heritage, And doubted not at all That we the children of their heart, Which then did beat so

1901 “. . . and will supply details to guard the Blood River Bridge.” District Orders-Lines of Communication, South African War. Sudden the desert changes, The raw glare softens and clings, Till the aching

“Brother Square-Toes” Rewards and Fairies. If you’re off to Philadelphia in the morning, You mustn’t take my stories for a guide. There’s little left, indeed, of the city you will read of, And all

Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid In his chapel at Manhood End, Ordered a midnight service For such as cared to attend. But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, And the night was stormy as well.

When all the world would keep a matter hid, Since Truth is seldom Friend to any crowd, Men write in Fable, as old AEsop did, Jesting at that which none will name aloud. And

Oh, little did the Wolf-Child care When first he planned his home, What City should arise and bear The weight and state of Rome. A shiftless, westward-wandering tramp, Checked by the Tiber flood, He

There was a strife ‘twixt man and maid Oh, that was at the birth of time! But what befell ‘twixt man and maid, Oh, that’s beyond the grip of rhyme. ‘Twas “Sweet, I must

I will let loose against you the fleet-footed vines I will call in the Jungle to stamp out your lines! The roofs shall fade before it, The house-beams shall fall; And the Karela,. the

1892 “And there is a Japanese idol at Kamakura” Oye who treated the Narrow Way By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day, Be gentle when “the heathen” pray To Buddha at Kamakura! To him the Way,

I go to concert, party, ball What profit is in these? I sit alone against the wall And strive to look at ease. The incense that is mine by right They burn before her

Above the portico a flag-staff, bearing the Union Jack, Remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ultimately When it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts, And seemed to see significance

I met my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!) Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled; I heard them lift the chorus that dropped the breakers’ song The

Once, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages ago, Ung, a maker of pictures, fashioned an image of snow. Fashioned the form of a tribesman gaily he whistled and sung, Working the snow with

“Soldier, soldier come from the wars, Why don’t you march with my true love?” “We’re fresh from off the ship an’ ‘e’s maybe give the slip, An’ you’d best go look for a new

“A Priest in Spite of Himself” “How far is St. Helena from a little child at play!” What makes you want to wander there with all the world between. Oh, Mother, call your son

Twelve hundred million men are spread About this Earth, and I and You Wonder, when You and I are dead, “What will those luckless millions do?” None whole or clean, ” we cry, “or

The rain it rains without a stay In the hills above us, in the hills; And presently the floods break way Whose strength is in the hills. The trees they suck from every cloud,

1901 Not in the camp his victory lies Or triumph in the market-place, Who is his Nation’s sacrifice To turn the judgement from his race. Happy is he who, bred and taught By sleek,

“In the Same Boat” A Diversity of Creatures There was darkness under Heaven For an hour’s space Darkness that we knew was given Us for special grace. Sun and noon and stars were hid,

The eldest son bestrides him, And the pretty daughter rides him, And I meet him oft o’ mornings on the Course; And there kindles in my bosom An emotion chill and gruesome As I

1923 Man dies too soon, beside his works half-planned. His days are counted and reprieve is vain: Who shall entreat with Death to stay his hand; Or cloke the shameful nakedness of pain? Send

We’ve sent our little Cupids all ashore They were frightened, they were tired, they were cold: Our sails of silk and purple go to store, And we’ve cut away our mast of beaten gold

Fair is our lot O goodly is our heritage! (Humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth!) For the Lord our God Most High He hath made the deep as dry, He

A much-discerning Public hold The Singer generally sings And prints and sells his past for gold. Whatever I may here disclaim, The very clever folk I sing to Will most indubitably cling to Their

By the Hoof of the Wild Goat uptossed From the cliff where she lay in the Sun Fell the Stone To the Tarn where the daylight is lost, So she fell from the light

I have been given my charge to keep Well have I kept the same! Playing with strife for the most of my life, But this is a different game. I’11 not fight against swords

1891 There were thirty million English who talked of England’s might, There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night. They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor

For a season there must be pain For a little, little space I shall lose the sight of her face, Take back the old life again While She is at rest in her place.

I know not in Whose hands are laid To empty upon earth From unsuspected ambuscade The very Urns of Mirth; Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise And cheer our solemn round The Jest beheld

The God of Fair Beginnings Hath prospered here my hand The cargoes of my lading, And the keels of my command. For out of many ventures That sailed with hope as high, My own

Try as he will, no man breaks wholly loose From his first love, no matter who she be. Oh, was there ever sailor free to choose, That didn’t settle somewhere near the sea? Myself,

A Rose, in tatters on the garden path, Cried out to God and murmured ‘gainst His Wrath, Because a sudden wind at twilight’s hush Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush. And

1903 After Boer War Duly with knees that feign to quake Bent head and shaded brow, Yet once again, for my father’s sake, In Rimmon’s House I bow. The curtains part, the trumpet blares,

Ah! What avails the classic bent And what the cultured word, Against the undoctored incident That actually occurred? And what is Art whereto we press Through paint and prose and rhyme When Nature in

Smells are surer than sounds or sights To make your heart-strings crack They start those awful voices o’ nights That whisper, ” Old man, come back! “ That must be why the big things

1918 This is the State above the Law. The State exists for the State alone.” [This is a gland at the back of the jaw, And an answering lump by the collar-bone.], Some die

Valour and Innocence Have latterly gone hence To certain death by certain shame attended. Envy ah! even to tears! The fortune of their years Which, though so few, yet so divinely ended. Scarce had

When I was a King and a Mason a Master proven and skilled I cleared me ground for a Palace such as a King should build. I decreed and dug down to my levels.

Where run your colts at pasture? Where hide your mares to breed? ‘Mid bergs about the Ice-cap Or wove Sargasso weed; By chartless reef and channel, Or crafty coastwise bars, But most the ocean-meadows

So here’s your Empire. No more wine, then? Good. We’ll clear the Aides and khitmatgars away. (You’ll know that fat old fellow with the knife He keeps the Name Book, talks in English too,

We were taken from the ore-bed and the mine, We were melted in the furnace and the pit We were cast and wrought and hammered to design, We were cut and filed and tooled

I’ve paid for your sickest fancies; I’ve humoured your crackedest whim Dick, it’s your daddy, dying; you’ve got to listen to him! Good for a fortnight, am I? The doctor told you? He lied.

Oh gallant was our galley from her caren steering-wheel To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered steel; The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for cooler air, But no galley

When, foot to wheel and back to wind, The helmsman dare not look behind, But hears beyond his compass-light, The blind bow thunder through the night, And, like a harpstring ere it snaps, The

Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told. His mercy fills the Khyber hills his grace is manifold; He has taken toll of the North and the South his glory reacheth

Dim dawn behind the tamerisks the sky is saffron-yellow As the women in the village grind the corn, And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow That the Day, the staring

Kabul town’s by Kabul river Blow the bugle, draw the sword There I lef’ my mate for ever, Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford. Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river, Ford o’ Kabul river

“THE WOMAN IN HIS LIFE” I have done mostly what most men do, And pushed it out of my mind; But I can’t forget, if I wanted to, Four-Feet trotting behind. Day after day,

“They” Traffics and Discoveries Neither the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the cherubs’ dove-winged races Holding hands forlornly the Children wandered beneath the Dome, Plucking the splendid robes of the passers-by, and with

Written for John Lockwood Kipling’s They killed a Child to please the Gods In Earth’s young penitence, And I have bled in that Babe’s stead Because of innocence. I bear the sins of sinful

1892 The freed dove flew to the Rajah’s tower Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings And the thorns have covered the city of Guar. Dove dove oh, homing dove! Little white traitor, with

As our mother the Frigate, bepainted and fine, Made play for her bully the Ship of the Line; So we, her bold daughters by iron and fire, Accost and decoy to our masters’ desire.

Much I owe to the Lands that grew More to the Lives that fed But most to Allah Who gave me two Separate sides to my head. Much I reflect on the Good and

If any God should say, “I will restore The world her yesterday Whole as before My Judgment blasted it” who would not lift Heart, eye, and hand in passion o’er the gift? If any

Shove off from the wharf-edge! Steady! Watch for a smooth! Give way! If she feels the lop already She’ll stand on her head in the bay. It’s ebb it’s dusk it’s blowing The shoals

Peace is declared, and I return To ‘Ackneystadt, but not the same; Things ‘ave transpired which made me learn The size and meanin’ of the game. I did no more than others did, I

Ahasuerus Jenkins of the “Operatic Own,” Was dowered with a tenor voice of super-Santley tone. His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle queer. He had no seat worth mentioning, but oh! he had

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet, Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street. Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie. Watch the wall, my

What the moral? Who rides may read. When the night is thick and the tracks are blind A friend at a pinch is a friend, indeed, But a fool to wait for the laggard

1895 There’s a Legion that never was listed, That carries no colours or crest, But, split in a thousand detachments, Is breaking the road for the rest. Our fathers they left us their blessing

I see the grass shake in the sun for leagues on either hand, I see a river loop and run about a treeless land An empty plain, a steely pond, a distance diamond-clear, And

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat; But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor

Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse Was good beyond all earthly need; But, on the other hand, her spouse Was very, very bad indeed. He smoked cigars, called churches slow, And raced but this

Marching Song of a Roman Legion of the Later Empire Enlarged From “Puck of Pook’s Hill” When I left Rome for Lalage’s sake, By the Legions’ Road to Rimini, She vowed her heart was

Here is nothing new nor aught unproven,” say the Trumpets, “Many feet have worn it and the road is old indeed. “It is the King the King we schooled aforetime! “ (Trumpets in the

1903 Lived a woman wonderful, (May the Lord amend her!) Neither simple, kind, nor true, But her Pagan beauty drew Christian gentlemen a few Hotly to attend her. Christian gentlemen a few From Berwick

The Liner she’s a lady, an’ she never looks nor ‘eeds The Man-o’-War’s ‘er ‘usband, an’ ‘e gives ‘er all she needs; But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun’, They’re

1917 They shall not return to us, the resolute, the young, The eager and whole-hearted whom we gave: But the men who left them thriftily to die in their own dung, Shall they come

The bachelor ‘e fights for one As joyful as can be; But the married man don’t call it fun, Because ‘e fights for three For ‘Im an’ ‘Er an’ It (An’ Two an’ One

At times when under cover I ‘ave said, To keep my spirits up an’ raise a laugh, ‘Earin ‘im pass so busy over-‘ead Old Nickel-Neck, ‘oo is n’t on the Staff “There’s one above

The Song of Mowgli I, Mowgli, am singing. Let the jungle listen to the things I have done. Shere Khan said he would kill would kill! At the gates in the twilight he would

The earth is full of anger, The seas are dark with wrath, The Nations in their harness Go up against our path: Ere yet we draw the blade, Jehovah of the Thunders, Lord God

‘E was warned agin’ ‘er That’s what made ‘im look; She was warned agin’ ‘im That is why she took. ‘Wouldn’t ‘ear no reason, ‘Went an’ done it blind; We know all about ’em,

The Four Archangels, so the legends tell, Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, Azrael, Being first of those to whom the Power was shown Stood first of all the Host before The Throne, And, when the Charges

This fell when dinner-time was done ‘Twixt the first an’ the second rub That oor mon Jock cam’ hame again To his rooms ahist the Club. An’ syne he laughed, an’ syne he sang,

Yearly, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go By the Pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale below. Yearly by Muttianee he follows our white men in Matun, the old blind

1914-18 The Garden called Gethsemane In Picardy it was, And there the people came to see The English soldiers pass. We used to pass we used to pass Or halt, as it might be,

To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned, To my brethren in their sorrow overseas, Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, machinely crammed, And a trooper of the

Cold is for the mistress silver for the maid Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.” “Good!” said the Baron, sitting in his hall, “But Iron Cold Iron is master of them all.”

Not in the thick of the fight, Not in the press of the odds, Do the heroes come to their height, Or we know the demi-gods. That stands over till peace. We can only

One moment past our bodies cast No shadow on the plain; Now clear and black they stride our track, And we run home again. In morning-hush, each rock and bush Stands hard, and high,

“‘As anybody seen Bill ‘Awkins?” “Now ‘ow in the devil would I know?” “‘E’s taken my girl out walkin’, An’ I’ve got to tell ‘im so Gawd bless ‘im! I’ve got to tell ‘im

The Stranger within my gate, He may be true or kind, But he does not talk my talk I cannot feel his mind. I see the face and the eyes and the mouth, But

‘T was Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house, Where sailor-men reside, And there were men of all the ports From Mississip to Clyde, And regally they spat and smoked, And fearsomely they lied. They lied about the

Dawn off the Foreland the young flood making Jumbled and short and steep Black in the hollows and bright where it’s breaking Awkward water to sweep. “Mines reported in the fairway, “Warn all traffic

The Celt in all his variants from Builth to Ballyhoo, His mental processes are plain one knows what he will do, And can logically predicate his finish by his start; But the English ah,

Now we are come to our Kingdom, And the State is thus and thus; Our legions wait at the Palace gate Little it profits us. Now we are come to our Kingdom! Now we

Canadian Jubal sang of the Wrath of God And the curse of thistle and thorn But Tubal got him a pointed rod, And scrabbled the earth for corn. Old old as that early mould,

Not with an outcry to Allah nor any complaining He answered his name at the muster and stood to the chaining. When the twin anklets were nipped on the leg-bars that held them, He

(Deserters) There is a world outside the one you know, To which for curiousness ‘Ell can’t compare It is the place where “wilful-missings” go, As we can testify, for we are there. You may

My name is O’Kelly, I’ve heard the Revelly From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore, Hong-Kong and Peshawur, Lucknow and Etawah, And fifty-five more all endin’ in “pore”. Black Death and his quickness,

Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house in order, And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the Afghan border, To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere

My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach, And the koil sings above it, in the siris by the well, From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel’s chattering speech, And the blue