Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1052 page)

           This I saw when the rites were done,
           And the lamps were dead and the Gods alone,
           And the grey snake coiled on the altar stone —
           Ere I fled from a Fear that I could not see,
           And the Gods of the East made mouths at me.

  Beat off in our last fight were we?
  The greater need to seek the sea.
  For Fortune changeth as the moon
  To caravel and picaroon.
  Then Eastward Ho! or Westward Ho!
  Whichever wind may meetest blow.
   Our quarry sails on either sea,
   Fat prey for such bold lads as we,
   And every sun-dried buccaneer
   Must hand and reef and watch and steer,
   And bear great wrath of sea and sky
   Before the plate-ships wallow by.
   Now, as our tall bows take the foam,
   Let no man turn his heart to home,
   Save to desire plunder more
   And larger warehouse for his store,
   When treasure won from Santos Bay
   Shall make our sea-washed village gay.

      Because I sought it far from men,
      In deserts and alone,
      I found it burning overhead,
      The jewel of a Throne.

       Because I sought — I sought it so
       And spent my days to find —
       It blazed one moment ere it left
       The blacker night behind.

      We be the Gods of the East —
         Older than all —
      Masters of Mourning and Feast —
         How shall we fall?

Will they gape for the husks that ye proffer
  Or yearn to your song
And we — have we nothing to offer
  Who ruled them so long —
In the fume of incense, the clash of the cymbals, the blare of
  the conch and the gong?
Over the strife of the schools
  Low the day burns —
Back with the kine from the pools
  Each one returns
To the life that he knows where the  altar-flame glows and the
  tulsi is trimmed in the urns.

The Necessitarian

“Steam Tactics” — Traffics and Discoveries

I know not in Whose hands are laid
 To empty upon earth
From unsuspected ambuscade
 The very Urns of Mirth;

Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise
  And cheer our solemn round —
The Jest beheld with streaming eyes
  And grovellings on the ground;

Who joins the flats of Time and Chance
   Behind the prey preferred,
And thrones on Shrieking Circumstance
  The Sacredly Absurd,

Till Laughter, voiceless through excess,
  Waves mute appeal and sore,
Above the midriff’s deep distress,
  For breath to laugh once more.

No creed hath dared to hail Him Lord,
  No raptured choirs proclaim,
And Nature’s strenuous Overword
  Hath nowhere breathed His Name.

Yet, it must be, on wayside jape,
  The selfsame Power bestows
The selfsame power as went to shape
  His Planet or His Rose.

Neighbours

“Beauty Sports”
From “Limits and Renewals” (1932)
The man that is open of heart to his neighbour,
  And stops to consider his likes and dislikes,
His blood shall be wholesome whatever his labour,
  His luck shall be with him whatever he strikes.
The Splendour of Morning shall duly possess him,
  That he may not be sad at the falling of eve.
And, when he has done with mere living — God bless him! —
  A many shall sigh, and one Woman shall grieve!

But he that is costive of soul toward his fellow,
  Through the ways, and the works, and the woes of this life,
Him food shall not fatten, him drink shall not mellow;
  And his innards shall brew him perpetual strife.
His eye shall be blind to God’s Glory above him;
  His ear shall be deaf to Earth’s Laughter around;
His Friends and his Club and his Dog shall not love him;
  And his Widow shall skip when he goes underground!

The New Knighthood

Who gives him the Bath?
“I,” said the wet,
Rank-Jungle-sweat,
“I’ll give him the Bath!”

Who’ll sing the psalms?
“We,” said the Palms.
“Ere the hot wind becalms,
“We’ll sing the psalms.”

Who lays on the sword ?
“I,” said the Sun,
Before he has done,
“I’ll lay on the sword.”

“Who fastens his belt?
“I,” said Short-Rations,
“ I know all the fashions
“Of tightening a belt!”

Who gives him his spur?
“I,” said his Chief,
Exacting and brief,
“I’ll give him the spur.”

Who’ll shake his hand?
“I,” said the Fever,
“And I’m no deceiver,
“I’ll shake his hand.”

Who brings him the wine?
“I,” said Quinine,
“It’s a habit of mine.
“I’11 come with his wine.”

Who’ll put him to proof?
“I,” said All Earth.
“Whatever he’s worth,
“I’ll put to the proof.”

Who’ll choose him for Knight?
“I,” said his Mother,
“Before any other,
“My very own Knight.”

And after this fashion, adventure to seek,
Sir Galahad made — as it might be last week!

Norman and Saxon

A.D. 1100
“My son,” said the Norman Baron, “I am dying, and you will
    be heir
To all the broad acres in England that William gave me for
    share
When he conquered the Saxon at Hastings, and a nice little
    handful it is.
But before you go over to rule it I want you to understand this: —

“The Saxon is not like us Normans. His manners are not so polite.
But he never means anything serious till he talks about justice
      right.
When he stands like an ox in the furrow — with his sullen set eyes
     on your own,
And grumbles, ‘This isn’t fair dealing,’ my son, leave the Saxon
     alone.

“You can horsewhip your Gascony archers, or torture your
      Picardy spears;
But don’t try that game on the Saxon; you’ll have the whole
     brood round your ears.
From the richest old Thane in the county to the poorest chained
              serf in the field,
They’ll be at you and on you like hornets, and, if you are wise,
                  you  will  yield.

“But first you must master their language, their dialect, proverbs
              and songs.
Don’t trust any clerk to interpret when they come with the tale
              of their own wrongs.
Let them know that you know what they are saying; let them feel
               that you know what to say.
Yes, even when you want to go hunting, hear ‘em out if it takes
                you all day.

They’ll drink every hour of the daylight and poach every hour
     of the dark.
It’s the sport not the rabbits they’re after (we’ve plenty of game
     in the park).
Don’t hang them or cut off their fingers. That’s wasteful as well
     as unkind,
For a hard-bitten, South-country poacher makes the best man-
     at-arms you can find.

“Appear with your wife and the children at their weddings and
     funerals and feasts.
Be polite but not friendly to Bishops; be good to all poor parish
   priests.
Say ‘we,’ ‘us’ and ‘ours’ when you’re talking, instead of ‘you
    fellows’  and  ‘I.’
Don’t ride over seeds; keep your temper; and
never you tell ‘em
     a lie!”

The North Sea Patrol

1914-18
Sea Warfare
Where the East wind is brewed fresh and fresh every morning,
  And the balmy night-breezes blow straight from the Pole,
I heard a Destroyer sing: “What an enjoya-
  ble life does one lead on the North Sea Patrol!

“To blow things to bits is our business ( and Fritz’s ),
  Which means there are mine-fields wherever you stroll.
Unless you’ve particular wish to die quick, you’ll a-
  void steering close to the North Sea Patrol.

“We warn from disaster the mercantile master
  Who takes in high Dudgeon our life-saving role,
For every one’s grousing at Docking and Dowsing
  The marks and the lights on the North Sea Patrol.”

         
[Twelve verses omitted.]

So swept but surviving, half drowned but still driving
  I watched her head out through the swell off the shoal,
And I heard her propellers roar- “Write to poor fellers
  Who run such a Hell as the North Sea Patrol!”

La Nuit Blanche

  A much-discerning Public hold
    The Singer generally sings
  And prints and sells his past for gold.

  Whatever I may here disclaim,
    The very clever folk I sing to
    Will most indubitably cling to
  Their pet delusion, just the same.

I had seen, as the dawn was breaking
  And I staggered to my rest,
Tari Devi softly shaking
  From the Cart Road to the crest.
I had seen the spurs of Jakko
  Heave and quiver, swell and sink.
Was it Earthquake or tobacco,
  Day of Doom, or Night of Drink?

In the full, fresh fragrant morning
  I observed a camel crawl,
Laws of gravitation scorning,
  On the ceiling and the wall;
Then I watched a fender walking,
  And I heard grey leeches sing,
And a red-hot monkey talking
  Did not seem the proper thing.

Then a Creature, skinned and crimson,
  Ran about the floor and cried,
And they said that I had the “jims” on,
  And they dosed me with bromide,
And they locked me in my bedroom —
  Me and one wee Blood Red Mouse —
Though I said: “To give my head room
  You had best unroof the house.”

But my words were all unheeded,
  Though I told the grave M.D.
That the treatment really needed
  Was a dip in open sea
That was lapping just below me,
  Smooth as silver, white as snow,
And it took three men to throw me
  When I found I could not go.

Half the night I watched the Heavens
  Fizz like ‘81 champagne —
Fly to sixes and to sevens,
  Wheel and thunder back again;
And when all was peace and order
  Save one planet nailed askew,
Much I wept because my warder
  Would not let me sit it true.

After frenzied hours of wating,
  When the Earth and Skies were dumb,
Pealed an awful voice dictating
  An interminable sum,
Changing to a tangle story —
  “What she said you said I said” —
Till the Moon arose in glory,
  And I found her . . . in my head;

Then a Face came, blind and weeping,
  And It couldn’t wipe its eyes,
And It muttered I was keeping
  Back the moonlight from the skies;
So I patted it for pity,
  But it whistled shrill with wrath,
And a huge black Devil City
  Poured its peoples on my path.

So I fled with steps uncertain
  On a thousand-year long race,
But the bellying of the curtain
  Kept me always in one place;
While the tumult rose and maddened
  To the roar of Earth on fire,
Ere it ebbed and sank and saddened
  To a whisper tense as wire.

In tolerable stillness
  Rose one little, little star,
And it chuckled at my illness,
  And it mocked me from afar;
And its breathren came and eyed me,
  Called the Universe to aid,
Till I lay, with naught to hide me,
  ‘Neath’ the Scorn of All Things Made.

Dun and saffron, robed and splendid,
  Broke the solemn, pitying Day,
And I knew my pains were ended,
  And I turned and tried to pray;
But my speech was shattered wholly,
  And I wept as children weep.
Till the dawn-wind, softly, slowly,
  Brought to burning eyelids sleep.

The Nurses

“The Bold ‘Prentice” - Land and Sea Tales
When, with a pain he desires to explain to his servitors, Baby
Howls himself black in the face, toothlessly striving to curse;
And the six-months-old Mother begins to inquire of the Gods it may be
Tummy, or Temper, or Pins – what does the adequate Nurse?

See! At a glance and a touch his trouble is guessed; and, thereafter,
She juggles (unscared by his throes) with drops of hot water and spoons,
Till the hiccoughs are broken by smiles, and the smiles pucker up into laughter,
And he lies o’er her shoulder and crows, and she as the nurses him croons! . . .

When at the head of the grade, tumultuous out of the cutting
Pours the belated Express, roars at the night, and draws clear,
Redly obscured or displayed by her fire-doors opening and shutting –
Symbol of strength under stress – what does her small engineer?

Clamour and darkness encircle his way. Do they deafen or blind him?
No! – nor the pace he must keep. He, being used to these things,
Placidly follows his work, which is laying his mileage behind him,
While his passengers placidly sleeps, and he, as he nurses her, sings! . . .