Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1078 page)

Hull down – hull down and under – she dwindles to a speck,
With noise of pleasant music and dancing on her deck.
All’s well – all’s well aboard her – she’s left you far behind,
With a scent of old-world roses through the fog that ties you blind.

Her crews are babes or madmen? Her port is all to make?
You’re manned by Truth and Science, and you steam for steaming’s sake?
Well, tinker up your engines – you know your business best –
She’s
taking tired people to the Islands of the Blest!

A Three-Part Song

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 Chalk coast!

I’ve buried my heart in a ferny hill,
Twix’ a liddle low shaw an’ a great high gill.
Oh hop-bine yaller an’ wood-smoke blue,
I reckon you’ll keep her middling true!

I’ve loosed my mind for to out and run
On a Marsh that was old when Kings begun.
Oh Romney Level and Brenzett reeds,
I reckon you know what my mind needs!

I’ve given my soul to the Southdown grass,
And sheep-bells tinkled where you pass.
Oh Firle an’ Ditchling an’ sails at sea,
I reckon you keep my soul for me!

The Threshold

“Unprofessional”
From “Limits and Renewals” (1932)
In their deepest caverns of limestone
  They pictured the Gods of Food —
The Horse, the Elk, and the Bison
  That the hunting might be good;
With the Gods of Death and Terror —
  The Mammoth, Tiger, and Bear.
And the pictures moved in the torchlight
  To show that the Gods were there!
      But that was before Ionia —
      (Or the Seven Holy Islands of Ionia)
      Any of the Mountains of Ionia,
      Had bared their peaks to the air.

The close years packed behind them,
  As the glaciers bite and grind,
Filling the new-gouged valleys
  With Gods of every kind.
Gods of all-reaching power —
  Gods of all-searching eyes —
But each to be wooed by worship
  And won by sacrifice.
      Till, after many winters, rose Ionia —
      (Strange men brooding in Ionia)
      Crystal-eyed Sages of Ionia
      Who said, “These tales are lies.

“We dream one Breath in all things,
  “That blows all things between.
“We dream one Matter in all things —
  “Eternal, changeless, unseen.
“‘That the heart of the Matter is single
  “Till the Breath shall bid it bring forth —
“By choosing or losing its neighbour —
  “All things made upon Earth.”
      But Earth was wiser than Ionia
      (Babylon and Egypt than Ionia)
      And they overlaid the teaching of Ionia
      And the Truth was choked at birth.

It died at the Gate of Knowledge —
  The Key to the Gate in its hand —
And the anxious priests and wizards
  Re-blinded the wakening land;
For they showed, by answering echoes,
  And chasing clouds as they rose,
How shadows should stand for bulwarks
  Between mankind and its woes.
      It was then that men bethought them of Ionia
      (The few that had not allforgot Ionia)
      Or the Word that was whispered in Ionia;
      And they turned from the shadows and the shows.

They found one Breath in all things,
  That moves all things between.
They proved one Matter in all things —
  Eternal, changeless, unseen;
That the heart of the Matter was single
  Till the Breath should bid it bring forth —
      Even as men whispered in Ionia,
      (Resolute, unsatisfied Ionia)
      Ere the Word was stifled in Ionia —
      All things known upon earth!

Tin Fish

1914-18
Sea Warfare

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 . . .
But the mirth of a seaport dies
  When our blow gets home.

To the City of Bombay (Dedication)

The Cities are full of pride, Challenging each to each — This from her mountain-side, That from her burdened beach. They count their ships full tale — Their corn and oil and wine, Derrick and loom and bale, And ramparts’ gun-flecked line; City by City they hail: “Hast aught to match with mine?” And the men that breed from them They traffic up and down, But cling to their cities’ hem As a child to the mother’s gown; When they talk with the stranger bands, Dazed and newly alone; When they walk in the stranger lands, By roaring streets unknown; Blessing her where she stands For strength above their own. (On high to hold her fame That stands all fame beyond, By oath to back the same, Most faithful-foolish-fond; Making her mere-breathed name Their bond upon their bond.) So thank I God my birth Fell not in isles aside — Waste headlands of the earth, Or warring tribes untried — But that she lent me worth And gave me right to pride. Surely in toil or fray Under an alien sky, Comfort it is to say: “Of no mean city am I!” (Neither by service nor fee Come I to mine estate — Mother of Cities to me, But I was born in her gate, Between the palms and the sea, Where the world-end steamers wait.) Now for this debt I owe, And for her far-borne cheer Must I make haste and go With tribute to her pier. And she shall touch and remit After the use of kings (Orderly, ancient, fit) My deep-sea plunderings, And purchase in all lands. And this we do for a sign Her power is over mine, And mine I hold at her hands!

To the Companions

Horace, BK. V. Ode 17.
“The United Idolaters”
How comes it that, at even-tide,
  When level beams should show most truth,
Man, failing, takes unfailing pride
  In memories of his frolic youth?

Venus and Liber fill their hour;
  The games engage, the law-courts prove;
Till hardened life breeds love of power
  Or Avarice, Age’s final love.

Yet at the end, these comfort not —
  Nor any triumph Fate decrees —
Compared with glorious, unforgot —
  Ten innocent enormities

Of frontless days before the beard,
  When, instant on the casual jest,
The God Himself of Mirth appeared
  And snatched us to His heaving breast

And we — not caring who He was
  But certain He would come again —
Accepted all He brought to pass
  As Gods accept the lives of men...

Then He withdrew from sight and speech,
  Nor left a shrine. How comes it now,
While Charon’s keel grates on the beach,
  He calls so clear: “Rememberest thou?”

Together

England at War
Where Horse and Rider each can trust the other everywhere,
It takes a fence and more than a fence to pound that happy pair;
For the one will do what the other demands, although he is beaten
    and blown,
 And when it is done, they can live through a run that neither
    could face alone.

When Crew and Captain understand each other to the core,
It takes a gale and more than a gale to put their ship ashore,
For the one will do what the other commands, although they;
     chilled to the bone,
And both together can live through weather that neither could
     face alone.
When King and People understand each other past a doubt,
It takes a foe and more than a foe to knock that country out;
For the one will do what the other required as soon as the need
     is shown;
And hand in hand they can make a stand which neither could
     make alone!

This wisdom had Elizabeth and all her subjects too,
For she was theirs and they were hers, as well the Spaniard knew;
For when his grim Armada came to conquer the Nation and
    Throne,
Why, back to back they met an attack that neither could face
    alone!

It is nor wealth, nor talk, nor trade, nor schools, nor even the
     Vote,
Will save your land when the enemy’s hand is tightening round
     your throat.
But a King and a People who thoroughly trust each other in all
    that is done
Can sleep on their bed without any dread — for the world will
    leave ‘em alone!

To James Whitcomb Riley

1890
On Receiving a Copy of His Rhymes for Children

  Your trail runs to the westward,
    And mine to my own place;
  There is water between our lodges,
    And I have not seen your face.

  But since I have read your verses
     ‘Tis easy to  guess the rest, —
  Because in the hearts of the children
    There is neither East nor West.

 Born to a thousand fortunes
   Of good or evil hap,
 Once they were kings together,
   Throned in a mother’s lap.

 Surely they know that secret —
   Yellow and black and white —
When they meet as kings together
   In innocent dreams at night.

By a moon they all can play with —
  Grubby and grimed and unshod,
Very happy together,
  And very near to God.

Your trail runs to the westward,
  And mine to my own place:
There is water between our lodges,
  And you cannot see my face. —

And that is well — for crying
  Should neither be written nor seen,
But if I call you Smoke-in-the-Eyes,
 I know you will know what I mean.

To a Lady, Persuading Her to a Car

Ben Jonson
 — The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)

Love’s fiery chariot, Delia, take
Which Vulcan wrought for Venus’ sake.
Wings shall not waft thee, but a flame
Hot as my heart — as nobly tame:
Lit by a spark, less bright, more wise
Than linked lightnings of thine eyes!
Seated and ready to be drawn
Come not in muslins, lace or lawn,
But, for thy thrice imperial worth,
Take all the sables of the North,
With frozen diamonds belted on,
To face extreme Euroclydon!
Thus in our thund’ring toy we’ll prove
Which is more blind, the Law or Love;
And may the jealous Gods prevent
Our fierce and uncontrouled descent!

To Motorists

Herrick

 — The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)

Since ye distemper and defile
Sweet Here by the measured mile,
Nor aught on jocund highways heed
Except the evidence of speed;
And bear about your dreadful task
Faces beshrouded ‘neath a mask;
Great goblin eyes and glue hands
And souls enslaved to gears and bands;
Here shall no graver curse be said
Than, though y’are quick, that ye are dead!

To T. A.

 I have made for you a song,
 And it may be right or wrong,
But only you can tell me if it’s true;
 I have tried for to explain
 Both your pleasure and your pain,
And, Thomas, here’s my best respects to you!

 O there’ll surely come a day
 When they’ll give 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!

The Totem

“The Tie”
From “Limits and Renewals” (1932)
Ere the mother’s milk had dried
  On my lips, the Brethren came —
Tore me from my nurse’s side,
  And bestowed on me a name

Infamously overtrue —
  Such as “Bunny,” “Stinker,” “Podge”; —
But, whatever I should do,
  Mine for ever in the Lodge.

Then they taught with palm and toe —
  Then I learned with yelps and tears —
All the Armoured Man should know
  Through his Seven Secret Years...

Last, oppressing as oppressed,
  I was loosed to go my ways
With a Totem on my breast
  Governing my nights and days —

Ancient and unbribeable,
  By the virtue of its Name —
Which, however oft I fell,
  Lashed me back into The Game.

And the World, that never knew,
  Saw no more beneath my chin
Than a patch of rainbow-hue,
  Mixed as Life and crude as Sin.

To Thomas Atkins

PRELUDE TO “BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS”
   
I have made for you a song
    And it may be right or wrong,
But only you can tell me if it’s true.
    I have tried for to explain
    Both your pleasure and your pain,
And, Thomas, here’s my best respects to you!