Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1071 page)

         With my
“Plunka-lunka-linka-lunka-lunka!”
             Here’s a trifle on account of pleasure past,
         Ere the wit made you win gives you eyes to see your sin
             And — the heavier repentance at the last!

Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof —
    I have told the naked stars the Grief of Man!
Let the trumpet snare the foeman to the proof —
     I have known Defeat, and mocked it as we ran!
My bray ye may not alter nor mistake
     When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things,
But the Song of Lost Endeavour that I make,
     Is it hidden in the twanging of the strings?

         With my
“Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!”
                [Is it naught to you that hear and pass me by?]
         But the word — the word is mine, when the order moves the line
             And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die!

The grandam of my grandam was the Lyre —
     [Oh, the blue below the little fisher-huts!]
That the Stealer stooping beachward filled with fire,
     Till she bore my iron head and ringing guts!
By the wisdom of the centuries I speak —
     To the tune of yestermorn I set the truth —
I, the joy of life unquestioned —  I, the Greek —
     I, the everlasting Wonder-song of Youth!

         With my
“Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!”
             What d’ye lack, my noble masters! What d’ye lack?]             - @  @ @@  @-  @ @
         So I draw the world together link by link:
             Yea, from Delos up to Limerick and back!

A Song of Bananas

(From the “Brazilian Verse”)
1927
HAVE you no Bananas, simple townsmen all?
   “Nay, but we have them certainly.
“We buy them off the barrows, with the vegetable-marrows
   “And the cabbage of our own country,
   “(From the costers of our own country.)”

Those are not Bananas, simple townsmen all.
   (Plantains from Canaryward maybe!)
For the true are red and gold, and they fill no steamer’s hold,
   But flourish in a rare country,
   (That men go far to see.)

Their stiff fronds point the nooning down, simple townsmen all,
   Or rear against the breezes off the sea;
Or duck and loom again, through the curtains of the rain
   That the loaded hills let free-
   (Bellying ‘twixt the uplands and the sea.)

Little birds inhabit there, simple townsmen all-
   Jewelled things no bigger than a bee;
And the opal butterflies plane and settle, flare and rise,
   Through the low-arched greenery,
   (That is malachite and jade of the sea.)

The red earth works and whispers there, simple townsmen all,
   Day and night in rank fecundity,
That the Blossom and the Snake lie open and awake,
   As it was by Eden Tree,
   (When the First Moon silvered through the Tree)...

But you must go to business, simple townsmen all,
   By ‘bus and train and tram and tube must flee!
For your Pharpars and Abanas do not include Bananas
   (And Jordan is a distant stream to drink of, simple townsmen),
   Which leaves the more for me!

The Song of the Cities

   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 River built,
 Wealth sought and Kings adventured life to hold.
Hail, England!  I am Asia — Power on silt,
 Death in my hands, but Gold!

  MADRAS

Clive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow,
 Wonderful kisses, so that I became
Crowned above Queens — a withered beldame now,
 Brooding on ancient fame.

  RANGOON

Hail, Mother!  Do they call me rich in trade?
 Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone,
And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid,
 Laugh ‘neath my Shwe Dagon.

  SINGAPORE

Hail, Mother!  East and West must seek my aid
 Ere the spent gear may dare the ports afar.
The second doorway of the wide world’s trade
 Is mine to loose or bar.

  HONG-KONG

Hail, Mother!  Hold me fast; my Praya sleeps
  Under innumerable keels to-day.
Yet guard (and landward), or to-morrow sweeps
  Thy war-ships down the bay!

  HALIFAX

Into the mist my guardian prows put forth,
 Behind the mist my virgin ramparts lie,
The Warden of the Honour of the North,
 Sleepless and veiled am I!

  QUEBEC AND MONTREAL

Peace is our portion.  Yet a whisper rose,
 Foolish and causeless, half in jest, half hate.
Now wake we and remember mighty blows,
 And, fearing no man, wait!

  VICTORIA

From East to West the circling word has passed,
 Till West is East beside our land-locked blue;
From East to West the tested chain holds fast,
 The well-forged link rings true!

  CAPE TOWN

Hail!  Snatched and bartered oft from hand to hand,
 I dream my dream, by rock and heath and pine,
Of Empire to the northward.  Ay, one land
 From Lion’s Head to Line!

  MELBOURNE

Greeting!  Nor fear nor favour won us place,
 Got between greed of gold and dread of drouth,
Loud-voiced and reckless as the wild tide-race
 That whips our harbour-mouth!

  SYDNEY

Greeting!  My birth-stain have I turned to good;
 Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness:
The first flush of the tropics in my blood,
 And at my feet Success!

  BRISBANE

The northern stirp beneath the southern skies —
 I build a Nation for an Empire’s need,
Suffer a little, and my land shall rise,
 Queen over lands indeed!

  HOBART

Man’s love first found me; man’s hate made me Hell;
 For my babes’ sake I cleansed those infamies.
Earnest for leave to live and labour well,
 God flung me peace and ease.

  AUCKLAND

Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart —
 On us, on us the unswerving season smiles,
Who wonder ‘mid our fern why men depart
 To seek the Happy Isles!

The Song of the Dead

Hear now the Song of the Dead — in the North by the torn berg-edges —
They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped sledges.
Song of the Dead in the South — in the sun by their skeleton horses,
Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of the sere river-courses.

Song of the Dead in the East — in the heat-rotted jungle-hollows,
Where the dog-ape barks in the kloof — in the brake of the buffalo-wallows.

Song of the Dead in the West  in the Barrens, the pass that betrayed them,
Where the wolverine tumbles their packs from the camp and the grave-rnound they made them;
                   Hear now the Song of the Dead!

                             I
We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town;
We yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go down.
Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the Power with the Need,
Till the Soul that is not man’s soul was lent us to lead.
As the deer breaks —  as the steer breaks — from the herd where they graze,
In the faith of little children we went on our ways.
Then the wood failed — then the food failed — then the last water dried.
In the faith of little children we lay down and died.
On the sand-drift — on the veldt-side  — in the fern-scrub we lay,
That our sons might follow after by the bones on the way.
Follow after-follow after! We have watered the root,
And the bud has come to blossom that ripens for fruit!
Follow after — we are waiting, by the trails that we lost,
For the sounds of many footsteps, for the tread of a host.
Follow after-follow after — for the harvest is sown:
By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own!

    
When Drake went down to the Horn
        And England was crowned thereby,
     ‘Twixt seas unsailed and shores unhailed
        Our Lodge — our Lodge was born
        (And England was crowned thereby!)

     Which never shall close again
        By day nor yet by night,
     While man shall take his ife to stake
        At risk of shoal or main
        (By day nor yet by night)

     But standeth even so
        As now we witness here,
     While men depart, of joyful heart,
        Adventure for to know
        (As now bear witness here!)

                II
We have fed our sea for a thousand years
    And she calls us, still unfed,
Tbough there’s never a wave of all her waves
    But marks our English dead:
We have strawed our best to the weed’s unrest,
    To the shark and the sheering gull.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
    Lord God, we ha’ paid in full!

There’s never a flood goes shoreward now
    But lifts a keel we manned;
There’s never an ebb goes seaward now
    But drops our dead on the sand —
But slinks our dead on the sands forlore,
    From the Ducies to the Swin.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
    Lord God, we ha’ paid it in!

We must feed our sea for a thousand years,
    For that is our doom and pride,
As it was when they sailed with the
Golden Hind,
    Or tbe wreck that struck last tide —
Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef
    Where the ghastly blue-lights flare
If blood be tbe price of admiralty,
If blood be tbe price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
    Lord God, we ha’ bought it fair!

Song of Diego Valdez

1902
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 have made the better trade,
  And Admiral am I.

To me my King’s much honour,
  To me my people’s love —
To me the pride of Princes
  And power all pride above;
To me the shouting cities,
  To me the mob’s refrain: —
“Who knows not noble Valdez
  “Hath never heard of Spain.”

But I remember comrades —
  Old playmates on new seas —
Whenas we traded orpiment
  Among the savages —
A thousand leagues to south’ard
  And thirty years removed —
They knew nor noble Valdez,
  But me they knew and loved.

Then they that found good liquor,
  They drank it not alone,
And they that found fair plunder,
  They told us every one,
About our chosen islands
  Or secret shoals between,
When, weary from far voyage,
  We gathered to careen.

There burned our breaming-fagots
  All pale along the shore:
There rose our worn pavilions —
  A sail above an oar:
As flashed each yeaming anchor
  Through mellow seas afire,
So swift our careless captains
  Rowed each to his desire.

Where lay our loosened harness?
  Where turned our naked feet?
Whose tavern ‘mid the palm-trees?
  What quenchings of what heat?
Oh, fountain in the desert!
  Oh, cistern in the waste!
Oh, bread we ate in secret!
  Oh, cup we spilled in haste!

The youth new-taught of longing,
  The widow curbed and wan,
The goodwife proud at season,
  And the maid aware of man —
All souls unslaked, consuming,
  Defrauded in delays,
Desire not more their quittance
  Than I those forfeit days!

I dreamed to wait my pleasure
  Unchanged my spring would bide:
Wherefore, to wait my pleasure,
  I put my spring aside
Till, first in face of Fortune,
  And last in mazed disdain,
I made Diego Valdez
  High Admiral of Spain.

Then walked no wind ‘neath Heaven
  Nor surge that did not aid —
I dared extreme occasion,
  Nor ever one betrayed.
They wrought a deeper treason —
  (Led seas that served my needs!)
They sold Diego Valdez
  To bondage of great deeds.