The ships destroy us above And ensnare us beneath. We arise, we lie down, and we In the belly of Death. The ships have a thousand eyes To mark where we come. . .

(From The Jungle Book) As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled Once, twice, and again! And a doe leaped up and a doe leaped up From the pond in the wood where the

“Farewell, Romance!” the Cave-men said; “With bone well carved he went away, Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead, And jasper tips the spear to-day. Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance, And he with

The King has called for priest and cup, The King has taken spur and blade To dub True Thomas a belted knight, And all for the sake o’ the songs he made. They have

“What are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade. “To turn you out, to turn you out”, the Colour-Sergeant said. “What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade. “I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got

Cities and Thrones and Powers, Stand in Time’s eye, Almost as long as flowers, Which daily die: But, as new buds put forth To glad new men, Out of the spent and unconsidered Earth,

1914-18 Farewell and adieu to you, Harwich Ladies, Farewell and adieu to you, ladies ashore! For we’ve received orders to work to the eastward Where we hope in a short time to strafe ’em

When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden’s green and gold, Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould; And the first rude sketch

I. If It be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed serai, Does not the Young Man try Its temper and pace ere he buy? If She be pleasant to look on, what

As I was spittin’ into the Ditch aboard o’ the Crocodile, I seed a man on a man-o’-war got up in the Reg’lars’ style. ‘E was scrapin’ the paint from off of ‘er plates,

June No hope, no change! The clouds have shut us in, And through the cloud the sullen Sun strikes down Full on the bosom of the tortured Town, Till Night falls heavy as remembered

1918 We’re not so old in the Army List, But we’re not so young at our trade, For we had the honour at Fontenoy Of meeting the Guards’Brigade. ‘Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare, And

Until thy feet have trod the Road Advise not wayside folk, Nor till thy back has borne the Load Break in upon the broke. Chase not with undesired largesse Of sympathy the heart Which,

(“Saint Proxed’s ever was the Church for peace”) If down here I chance to die, Solemnly I beg you take All that is left of “I” To the Hills for old sake’s sake, Pack

1914-18 The Babe was laid in the Manger Between the gentle kine All safe from cold and danger “But it was not so with mine, (With mine! With mine!) “Is it well with the

Take up the White man’s burden Send forth the best ye breed Go bind your sons to exile To serve your captives’ need; To wait in heavy harness On fluttered folk and wild Your

The white moth to the closing bine, The bee to the opened clover, And the gipsy blood to the gipsy blood Ever the wide world over. Ever the wide world over, lass, Ever the

Read here: This is the story of Evarra man Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. Because the city gave him of her gold, Because the caravans brought turquoises, Because his life was

1918 SEVEN Watchmen sitting in a tower, Watching what had come upon mankind, Showed the Man the Glory and the Power, And bade him shape the Kingdom to his mind. “All things on Earth

Life’s all getting and giving, I’ve only myself to give. What shall I do for a living? I’ve only one life to live. End it? I’ll not find another. Spend it? But how shall

1896 Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her: Haling her dumb from the camp, held her and bound her. Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her;

Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen, Is a dismal failure is a Might-have-been. In a luckless moment he discovered men Rise to high position through a ready pen. Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore “I, With

I went into a public-‘ouse to get a pint o’ beer, The publican ‘e up an’ sez, “We serve no red-coats here.” The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,

“You must choose between me and your cigar.” BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885. Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

1903 (South African War ended, May, 1902) Here, where my fresh-turned furrows run, And the deep soil glistens red, I will repair the wrong that was done To the living and the dead. Here,

Too late, alas! the song To remedy the wrong; The rooms are taken from us, swept and garnished for their fate. But these tear-besprinkled pages Shall attest to future ages That we cried against

1914-18 Have you news of my boy Jack?” Not this tide. “When d’you think that he’ll come back?” Not with this wind blowing, and this tide. “Has any one else had word of him?:

Puck of Poock’s Hills Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee Our love and toil in the years to be; When we are grown and take our place As men and women with

1911 When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride, He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside. But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail. For

I’ve a head like a concertina: I’ve a tongue like a button-stick: I’ve a mouth like an old potato, and I’m more than a little sick, But I’ve had my fun o’ the Corp’ral’s

Ay, lay him ‘neath the Simla pine A fortnight fully to be missed, Behold, we lose our fourth at whist, A chair is vacant where we dine. His place forgets him; other men Have

Eyes of grey a sodden quay, Driving rain and falling tears, As the steamer wears to sea In a parting storm of cheers. Sing, for Faith and Hope are high None so true as

I sent a message to my dear A thousand leagues and more to Her The dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear, And Lost Atlantis bore to Her. Behind my message hard I came, And nigh

So long as ‘neath the Kalka hills The tonga-horn shall ring, So long as down the Solon dip The hard-held ponies swing, So long as Tara Devi sees The lights of Simla town, So

They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods Before they planted

Speakin’ in general, I’ave tried ’em all The ‘appy roads that take you o’er the world. Speakin’ in general, I’ave found them good For such as cannot use one bed too long, But must

There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; And when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and

Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban; Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man. Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone

We now, held in captivity, Spring to our bondage nor grieve See now, how it is blesseder, Brothers, to give than receive! Keep trust, wherefore we were made, Paying the debt that we owe;

Horace, BK. V., Ode 3 “Regulus” A Diversity of Creatures There are whose study is of smells, And to attentive schools rehearse How something mixed with something else Makes something worse. Some cultivate in

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea, There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:

To the Heavens above us O look and behold The Planets that love us All harnessed in gold! What chariots, what horses Against us shall bide While the Stars in their courses Do fight

The Word came down to Dives in Torment where he lay: “Our World is full of wickedness, My Children maim and slay, “And the Saint and Seer and Prophet “Can make no better of

I keep six honest serving-men (They taught me all I knew); Their names are What and Why and When And How and Where and Who. I send them over land and sea, I send

1918Being the Words of the Tune Hummed at Her Lathe by Mrs. L. Embsay, Widow The fans and the beltings they roar round me. The power is shaking the floor round me Till the

It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine, And much I wondered how he lived, and where the beast might dine, And many, many other things, till, o’er my morning smoke,

When ‘Omer smote ‘is bloomin’ lyre, He’d ‘eard men sing by land an’ sea; An’ what he thought ‘e might require, ‘E went an’ took the same as me! The market-girls an’ fishermen, The

The fear was on the cattle, for the gale was on the sea, An’ the pens broke up on the lower deck an’ let the creatures free An’ the lights went out on the

The dead child lay in the shroud, And the widow watched beside; And her mother slept, and the Channel swept The gale in the teeth of the tide. But the mother laughed at all.

1930 When the grey geese heard the Fool’s tread Too near to where they lay, They lifted neither voice nor head, But took themselves away. No water broke, no pinion whirred- There went no