Rudyard Kipling

“ Should swerve one hair's-breadth from the pulse's path,
And chafe his brain, Evarra mowed alone,
Rag-wrapped, among the cattle in the fields,
Counting his fingers, jesting with the trees,
And mocking at the mist, until his God
Drove him to labour. Out of dung and horns
Dropped in the mire he made a monstrous God,
Abhorrent, shapeless, crowned with plaintain tufts,
And when the cattle lowed at twilight time,
He dreamed it was the clamour of lost crowds,
And howled among the beasts: "Thus Gods are made,
"And whoso makes them otherwise shall die." ”

“ The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife,
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sin in life:
"Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice at the grip of the Grave,
"And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that men might call me brave."
The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and set it aside to cool:
"Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the hide of a brain-sick fool? ”

“ There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road;
⁠With its best foot first
⁠And the road a-sliding past,
⁠An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last;
⁠While the Big Drum says,
⁠With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!"—
⁠"Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argyjow?"
Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire when you see,
There's the peacock round the corner an' the monkey up the tree,
An' there's that rummy silver grass a-wavin' in the wind,
An' the old Grand Trunk a-trailin' like a rifle-sling be'ind. ”

“ When the skies are black above them, and the decks ablaze beneath,
And the top-men clear the raffle with their clasp-knives in their teeth.
It may be that Fate will give me life and leave to row once more—
Set some strong man free for righting as I take awhile his oar.
But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse her service then?
God be thanked—whate'er comes after, I have lived and toiled with Men! ”

“ Lie close, lie close as khuttucks lie,
⁠Fat herds below Bonair!
The one I'll shoot at twilight tide,
⁠At dawn I'll drive the other;
The black shall mourn for hoof and hide,
⁠The white man for his brother!
'Tis war, red war, I'll give you then,
⁠War till my sinews fail,
For the wrong you have done to a chief of men
⁠And a thief of the Zukka Kheyl.
And if I fall to your hand afresh
⁠I give you leave for the sin,
That you cram my throat with the foul pig's flesh
⁠And swing me in the skin! ”

“ Up, up through the night goes the Overland Mail.
There's a speck on the hill-side, a dot on the road—
⁠A jingle of bells on the foot-path below—
There's a scuffle above in the monkey's abode—
⁠The world is awake and the clouds are aglow.
For the great Sun himself must attend to the hail:—
"In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!" ”

“ Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds of Springtime range—
⁠Give me back one day in England, for it's Spring in England now!
Through the pines the gusts are booming, o'er the brown fields blowing chill,
⁠From the furrow of the plough-share streams the fragrance of the loam,
And the hawk nests in the cliffside and the jackdaw on the hill,
⁠And my heart is back in England 'mid the sights and sounds of Home. ”

“ The West Wind called:—"In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly
"That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die.
"They make my might their porter, they make my house their path,
"Till I loose my neck from their rudder and whelm them all in my wrath.
"I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole;
"They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll,
"For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath,
"And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death. ”

“ We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart;
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old "It's clever, but is it Art?"
When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the Club-room's green and gold,
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mould—
They scratch with their pens in the mould of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start,
For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?" ”

“ Yea, Delhi town was very near when Lalun whispered:—"Slay!
⁠"Lord of my life, the mare sinks fast—stab deep and let me die!"
But Scindia would not, and the maid tore free and flung away,
⁠And turning as she fell we heard the clattering Populzai.
Then Scindia checked the gasping mare that rocked and groaned for breath,
⁠And wheeled to charge and plunged the knife a hands-breadth in her side—
The hunter and the hunted know how that last pause is death—
⁠The blood had chilled about her heart, she reared and fell and died.
Our Gods were kind. ”

“ 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'rals Guard: I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink and blacking the Corporal's eye.
⁠With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
⁠And a beautiful view of the yard,
⁠Oh, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B.
⁠For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
⁠Mad drunk and resisting the Guard—
⁠'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
⁠So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B.
⁠For "drunk and resisting the Guard." ”

“ And the nodding mother sighed,
⁠"'Tis sorrow makes ye dull;
"Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern,
⁠"Or the wail of the wind-blown gull?"
"The terns are blown inland,
⁠"The grey gull follows the plough.
"'Twas never a bird, the voice I heard,
⁠"O mother, I hear it now!"
"Lie still, dear lamb, lie still;
⁠"The child is passed from harm,
"'Tis the ache in your breast that broke your rest
⁠"And the feel of an empty arm." ”

“ Things were lively for a week in the State of Kolazai,
Even now the people speak of that time regretfully;
How he disendowed the Gaol—stopped at once the City drain;
Turned to beauty fair and frail—got his senses back again;
Doubled taxes, cesses all; cleared away each new-built thana;
Turned the two-lakh Hospital into a superb Zenana;
Heaped upon the Bukhshi Sahib wealth and honours manifold;
Clad himself in Eastern garb—squeezed his people as of old.
Happy, happy Kolazai! Never more will Rustum Beg
Play to catch the Viceroy's eye. He prefers the "simpkin" peg. ”

“ Took a brotherly interest in Boh Da Thone:
And, sooth, if pursuit in possession ends,
The Boh and his trackers were best of friends.
The word of a scout—a march by night—
A rush through the mist—a scattering fight—
A volley from cover—a corpse in the clearing—
The glimpse of a loin-cloth and heavy jade earring—
The flare of a village—the tally of slain—
And ... the Boh was abroad "on the raid" again!
They cursed their luck as the Irish will,
They gave him credit for cunning and skill,
They buried their dead, they bolted their beef,
And started anew on the track of the thief ”

“ Thus the midday halt of Charnock—more's the pity!
⁠Grew a City.
As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed,
⁠So it spread—
Chance-directed, chance-erected, laid and built
⁠On the silt—
Palace, byre, hovel—poverty and pride—
⁠Side by Side;
And, above the packed and pestilential town,
⁠Death looked down. ”

“ Ah Goddess! child, spinster, or widow—as of old on Mars Hill when they raised
To the God that they knew not an altar—so I, a young Pagan, have praised
The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if half that men tell me be true,
You will come in the future, and therefore the verses are written to you! ”

“ And they said: "The soul that he got from God he has bartered clean away.
"We have threshed a stook of print and book, and winnowed a chattering wind
"And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his we cannot find:
"We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have seared him to the bone,
"And sure if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul of his own." ”

“ And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
⁠Oh, there'll surely come a day
⁠When they'll grant you all your pay,
And treat you as a Christian ought to do;
⁠So, until that day comes round,
⁠Heaven keep you safe and sound,
And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you. ”

“ In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep
⁠If the dove, if the dove—if the homing dove
Come and alone to the palace wall."
The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad—
⁠The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all.
Hot from slaughter he stopped at the ford,
⁠And the dove—the dove—oh, the homing dove!
She thought of her cote on the palace wall.
She opened her wings and she flew away—
⁠Fluttered away beyond recall;
She came to the palace at break of day.
⁠Dove—dove—oh, homing dove!
Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall. ”

“ Say that we, being desolate, entreat her
⁠That she forget us not in after years;
⁠For we have seen the light, and it were grievous
⁠To dim that dawning if our lady leave us.
By life that ebbed with none to staunch the failing
⁠By Love's sad harvest garnered in the spring,
When Love in Ignorance wept unavailing
⁠O'er young buds dead before their blossoming ”

“ Open the old cigar-box—let me consider anew—
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?
A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke. ”

“ To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountain side!
So I answered:—"Gentle Bandar, an inscrutable Decree,
"Makes thee a gleesome fleasome Thou, and me a wretched Me.
"Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home amid the pine;
"Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his lot with thine." ”

“ By the favour of the King, are as fat as anything,
They are—they are—they are!
Recitative, Government of India, with white satin wings and electroplated harp:—
How beautiful upon the mountains—in peace reclining,
Thus to be assured that our people are unanimously dining. ”

“ Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
⁠Or West to the Golden Gate;
⁠Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
⁠And the wildest tales are true,
⁠And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
⁠And life runs large on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new. ”

“ The skipper looked at the tiering guns and the bulwarks tall and cold,
And the Captains Three full courteously peered down at the gutted hole,
And the Captains Three called courteously from deck to scuttle-butt:—
"Good Sir, we ha' dealt with that merchantman or ever your teeth were cut.
"Your words be words of a lawless race, and the Law it standeth thus:
"He comes of a race that have never a Law, and he never has boarded us. ”

“ Dim dawn behind the tamarisks—the sky is saffron-yellow—
⁠As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the river-side, each calling to his fellow
⁠That the Day, the staring Eastern Day, is born. ”

“ We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to, Love and Truth,
⁠We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung,
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.
⁠God help us, for we knew the worst too young! ”

“ Love came upon us suddenly
⁠And loosed—an idle hour to kill—
A headless, harmless armoury
⁠That smote us both on Jakko Hill.
Ah Heaven! we would wait and wait
⁠Through Time and to Eternity!
Ah Heaven! we would conquer Fate
⁠With more than Godlike constancy! ”

“ Then said Bisesa:—"I am near to Death,
"And have the Wisdom of the Grave for gift
"To bear me on the path my feet must tread.
"If there be wealth on earth, then I am rich,
"For Armod is the first of all Er-Heb;
"If there be beauty on the earth,"—her eyes
Dropped for a moment to the temple floor,—
"Ye know that I am fair. If there be Love,
"Ye know that love is mine." The Chief in War,
The Man of Sixty Spears, broke from the press,
And would have clasped her, but the Priests withstood,
Saying:—"She has a message from Taman." ”

“ And what should they know of England who only England know?—
The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag,
They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English Flag! ”

“ And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left it long ago,
And if we could come when the sentry slept and softly scurry through,
By the favour of God we might know as much—as our father Adam knew. ”

“ For, think you, as the vapours flee
⁠Across Sanjaolie after rain,
⁠His soul may climb the hill again
To each old field of victory.
Unseen, who women held so dear,
⁠The strong man's yearning to his kind
⁠Shall shake at most the window-blind,
Or dull awhile the card-room's cheer. ”

“ Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass,
Follow after with the others,
Where some dusky heathen smothers
Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass.
Or, perchance, in years to follow,
I shall watch your plump sides hollow,
See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse,
See old age at last o'erpower you,
And the Station Pack devour you,
I shall chuckle then, Undertaker's Horse! ”

“ Is wan with gazing on official files,
⁠And desecrating desks disgust the stars.
Nay! by the memory of tuneful nights—
⁠Nay! by the witchery of flying feet—
Nay! by the glamour of foredone delights—
⁠By all things merry, musical, and meet—
By wine that sparkled, and by sparkling eyes—
⁠By wailing waltz—by reckless gallop's strain—
By dim verandahs and by soft replies,
⁠Give us our ravished ball-room back again! ”

“ So long as Pleasure calls us up,
⁠And duty drives us down,
⁠If you love me as I love you
⁠What pair so happy as we two?
So long as Aces take the King,
⁠Or backers take the bet,
So long as debt leads men to wed;
⁠Or marriage leads to debt ”