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