Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1026 page)

How can I answer which is best
  Of all the fires that burn?
I have been too often host or guest
  At every fire in turn.

How can I turn from any fire,
  On any man’s hearthstone?
I know the wonder and desire
  That went to build my own!

How can I doubt man’s joy or woe
  Where’er his house-fires shine.
Since all that man must undergo
  Will visit me at mine?

Oh, you Four Winds that blow so strong
  And know that his is true,
Stoop for a little and carry my song
  To all the men I knew!

Where there are fires against the cold,
  Or roofs against the rain —
With love fourfold and joy fourfold,
  Take them my songs again!

The First Chantey

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;
Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.

Swift through the forest we ran, none stood to guard us,
Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us —
Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen.
Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen.

Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter,
Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water;
Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her,
Called she the God of the Wind that He should aid her.

Life had the tree at that word (Praise we the Giver!)
Otter-like left he the bank for the full river.
Far fell their axes behind, flashing and ringing,
Wonder was on me and fear — yet she was singing!

Low lay the land we had left. Now the blue bound us,
Even the Floor of the Gods level around us.
Whisper there was not, nor word, shadow nor showing,
Till the light stirred on the deep, glowing and growing.

Then did He leap to His place flaring from under,
He the Compeller, the Sun, bared to our wonder.
Nay, not a league from our eyes blinded with gazing,
Cleared He the Gate of the World, huge and amazing!

This we beheld (and we live) — the Pit of the Burning!
Then the God spoke to the tree for our returning;
Back to the beach of our flight, fearless and slowly,
Back to our slayers went he; but we were holy.

Men that were hot in that hunt, women that followed,
Babes that were promised our bones, trembled and wallowed.
Over the necks of the Tribe crouching and fawning —
Prophet and priestess we came back from the dawning!

The Flight

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 warning call.
The steely, sheltering rushes stirred
A little — that was all.
Only the osiers understood,
And the drowned meadows spied
What else than wreckage of a flood
Stole outward on that tide.
But the far beaches saw their ranks
Gather and greet and grow
By myriads on the naked banks
Watching their sign to go;
Till, with a roar of wings that churned
The shivering shoals to foam,
Flight after flight took air and turned
To find a safer home;
And, far below their steadfast wedge,
They heard (and hastened on)
Men thresh and clamour through the sedge
Aghast that they were gone!
And, when men prayed them come anew
And nest where they were bred,
“Nay, fools foretell what knaves will do,”
Was all the grey geese said.

The Floods

The rain it rains without a stay
  In the hills above us, in the hills;
And presently the floods break way
  Whose strength is in the hills.
The trees they suck from every cloud,
The valley brooks they roar aloud —
Bank-high for the lowlands, lowlands,
  Lowlands under the hills!

The first wood down is sere and small,
  From the hills — the brishings off the hills;
And then come by the bats and all
  We cut last year in the hills;
And then the roots we tried to cleave
But found too tough and had to leave —
Polting down the lowlands, lowlands,
  Lowlands under the hills!

The eye shall look, the ear shall hark
  To the hills, the doings in the hills!
And rivers mating in the dark
  With tokens from the hills.
Now what is weak will surely go,
And what is strong must prove it so —
Stand Fast in the lowlands, lowlands,
  Lowlands under the hills!

The floods they shall not be afraid —
  Nor the hills above ‘em, nor the hills —
Of any fence which man has made
  Betwixt him and the hills.
The waters shall not reckon twice
  For any work of man’s device,
  But bid it down to the lowlands, lowlands,
     Lowlands under the hills!

The floods shall sweep corruption clean —
  By the hills, the blessing of the hills —
That more the meadows may be green
  New-mended from the hills.
The crops and cattle shall increase,
Nor little children shall not cease.
Go — plough the lowlands, lowlands,
  Lowlands under the hills!

The Flowers

To our private taste, there is always something a little exotic,
almost artificial, in songs which, under an English aspect and dress,
are yet so manifestly the product of other skies.  They affect us
like translations; the very fauna and flora are alien, remote;
the dog’s-tooth violet is but an ill substitute for the rathe primrose,
nor can we ever believe that the wood-robin sings as sweetly in April
as the English thrush. — THE ATHEN]AEUM.

    
Buy my English posies!
      Kent and Surrey may —
     Violets of the Undercliff
      Wet with Channel spray;
     Cowslips from a Devon combe —
      Midland furze afire —
     Buy my English posies
      And I’ll sell your heart’s desire!

    Buy my English posies!
     You that scorn the May,
    Won’t you greet a friend from home
     Half the world away?
    Green against the draggled drift,
     Faint and frail but first —
    Buy my Northern blood-root
     And I’ll know where you were nursed:
Robin down the logging-road whistles, “Come to me!”
Spring has found the maple-grove, the sap is running free.
All the winds of Canada call the ploughing-rain.
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

    Buy my English posies!
     Here’s to match your need —
    Buy a tuft of royal heath,
     Buy a bunch of weed
    White as sand of Muizenberg
     Spun before the gale —
    Buy my heath and lilies
     And I’ll tell you whence you hail!
Under hot Constantia broad the vineyards lie —
Throned and thorned the aching berg props the speckless sky —
Slow below the Wynberg firs trails the tilted wain —
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

    Buy my English posies!
     You that will not turn —
    Buy my hot-wood clematis,
     Buy a frond o’ fern
    Gathered where the Erskine leaps
     Down the road to Lorne —
    Buy my Christmas creeper
     And I’ll say where you were born!
West away from Melbourne dust holidays begin —
They that mock at Paradise woo at Cora Lynn —
Through the great South Otway gums sings the great South Main —
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

    Buy my English posies!
     Here’s your choice unsold!
    Buy a blood-red myrtle-bloom,
     Buy the kowhai’s gold
    Flung for gift on Taupo’s face,
     Sign that spring is come —
    Buy my clinging myrtle
     And I’ll give you back your home!
Broom behind the windy town, pollen of the pine —
Bell-bird in the leafy deep where the
ratas
twine —
Fern above the saddle-bow, flax upon the plain —
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

    Buy my English posies!
     Ye that have your own
    Buy them for a brother’s sake
     Overseas, alone!
    Weed ye trample underfoot
     Floods his heart abrim —
    Bird ye never heeded,
     Oh, she calls his dead to him!
Far and far our homes are set round the Seven Seas;
Woe for us if we forget, we who hold by these!
Unto each his mother-beach, bloom and bird and land —
Masters of the Seven Seas, oh, love and understand.

Follow Me ‘ome

   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 men do.

So it’s knock out your pipes an’ follow me!
An’ it’s finish up your swipes an’ follow me!
 Oh, ‘ark to the big drum callin’,
  Follow me — follow me ‘ome!

   ‘Is mare she neighs the ‘ole day long,
    She paws the ‘ole night through,
An’ she won’t take ‘er feed ‘cause o’ waitin’ for ‘is step,
    Which is just what a beast would do.

   ‘Is girl she goes with a bombardier
    Before ‘er month is through;
An’ the banns are up in church, for she’s got the beggar hooked,
    Which is just what a girl would do.

   We fought ‘bout a dog — last week it were —
    No more than a round or two;
But I strook ‘im cruel ‘ard, an’ I wish I ‘adn’t now,
    Which is just what a man can’t do.

   ‘E was all that I ‘ad in the way of a friend,
    An’ I’ve ‘ad to find one new;
But I’d give my pay an’ stripe for to get the beggar back,
    Which it’s just too late to do!

So it’s knock out your pipes an’ follow me!
An’ it’s finish off your swipes an’ follow me!
 Oh, ‘ark to the fifes a-crawlin’!
  Follow me — follow me ‘ome!

     Take ‘im away!  ‘E’s gone where the best men go.
     Take ‘im away!  An’ the gun-wheels turnin’ slow.
     Take ‘im away!  There’s more from the place ‘e come.
     Take ‘im away, with the limber an’ the drum.

For it’s “Three rounds blank” an’ follow me,
An’ it’s “Thirteen rank” an’ follow me;
 Oh, passin’ the love o’ women,
  Follow me — follow me ‘ome!

For All We Have And Are

1914
For all we have and are,
For all our children’s fate,
Stand up and take the war.
The Hun is at the gate!
Our world has passed away,
In wantonness o’erthrown.
There is nothing left to-day
But steel and fire and stone!
        Though all we knew depart,
        The old Commandments stand: —
        “In courage keep your heart,
        In strength lift up your hand.”

Once more we hear the word
That sickened earth of old: —
“No law except the Sword
Unsheathed and uncontrolled.”
Once more it knits mankind,
Once more the nations go
To meet and break and bind
A crazed and driven foe.

Comfort, content, delight,
The ages’ slow-bought gain,
They shrivelled in a night.
Only ourselves remain
To face the naked days
In silent fortitude,
Through perils and dismays
Renewed and re-renewed.
        Though all we made depart,
        The old Commandments stand: —
        “In patience keep your heart,
        In strength lift up your hand.”

No easy hope or lies
Shall bring us to our goal,
But iron sacrifice
Of body, will, and soul.
There is but one task for all —
One life for each to give.
What stands if Freedom fall?
Who dies if England live?

Ford o’ Kabul River

Kabul town’s by Kabul river —
 Blow the trumpet, draw the sword —
There I lef’ my mate for ever,
 Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford.
    Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
     Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
    There’s the river up and brimmin’, an’ there’s ‘arf a squadron swimmin’
     ‘Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.

Kabul town’s a blasted place —
 Blow the trumpet, draw the sword —
‘Strewth I shan’t forget ‘is face
 Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford!
    Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
     Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
    Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an’ they will surely guide you
     ‘Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.

Kabul town is sun and dust —
 Blow the trumpet, draw the sword —
I’d ha’ sooner drownded fust
 ‘Stead of ‘im beside the ford.
    Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
     Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
    You can ‘ear the ‘orses threshin’, you can ‘ear the men a-splashin’,
     ‘Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.