Poet Rudyard Kipling

Rudyard Kipling

Rudyard Kipling Poems

  • 301.  
    Late came the God, having sent his forerunners who were
    not regarded--Late, but in wrath;
  • 302.  
    My son was killed while laughing at some jest, I would
    I knewWhat it was and it might serve me in a time when jests
  • 303.  
    There's no wind along these seas,
    Out oars for Stavenger!Forward all for Stavenger!
  • 304.  
    Ay, lay him 'neath the Simla pine --
    A fortnight fully to be missed,Behold, we lose our fourth at whist,
  • 305.  
    C. F. Rhodes, buried in the Matoppos, April 10, 1902

  • 306.  
    Now it is not good for the Christian's health to hustle the Aryan
    brown,For the Christian riles, and the Aryan smiles, and he weareth the
  • 307.  
    Old Horn to All Atlantic said:
    (A-hay O! To me O!)"Now where did Frankie learn his trade?
  • 308.  
    When Rome was rotten-ripe to her fall,
    And the sceptre passed from her hand,The pestilent Picts leaped over the wall
  • 309.  
    1914

  • 310.  
    (A. D. 1066)

  • 311.  
    Master, this is Thy Servant. He is rising eight weeks old.
    He is mainly Head and Tummy. His legs are uncontrolled.But Thou hast forgiven his ugliness, and settled him on Thy knee . . .
  • 312.  
    As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree
    The Angel of the Earth came down, and offered Earth in fee;But Adam did not need it,
  • 313.  
    There is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may -
    'You bike,' 'you bikwe,' 'ubbikwe' - alludin' to R.A. It serves 'Orse, Field, an' Garrison as motto for a crest,
  • 314.  
    Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed,
    To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their need,He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and pant, and sweat,
  • 315.  
    . . . At the close of a winter day,
    Their anchors down, by London town, the Three Great Captains lay;And one was Admiral of the North from Solway Firth to Skye,
  • 316.  
    R.N.V.R, Sea Constables

  • 317.  
    For a season there must be pain--
    For a little, little space I shall lose the sight of her face,
  • 318.  
    Not in the thick of the fight,
    Not in the press of the odds,Do the heroes come to their height,
  • 319.  
    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
  • 320.  
    If any questions
    why we died,Tell them,
  • 321.  
    Imprimis he was "broke." Thereafter left
    His Regiment and, later, took to drink;Then, having lost the balance of his friends,
  • 322.  
    Old Mother Laidinwool had nigh twelve months been dead.
    She heard the hops was doing well, an' so popped up her headFor said she: "The lads I've picked with when I was young and fair,
  • 323.  
    When the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear,
    ("It's all one," says the Sapper),The Lord He created the Engineer,
  • 324.  
    They christened my brother of old--
    And a saintly name he bears--They gave him his place to hold
  • 325.  
    My new-cut ashlar takes the light
    Where crimson-blank the windows flare;By my own work, before the night,
  • 326.  
    Tennison

  • 327.  
    Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all
    By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul, Furious in luxury, merciless in toil,
  • 328.  
    When ye say to Tabaqui, "My Brother!" when ye call the Hyena
    to meat,Ye may cry the Full Truce with Jacala - the Belly that runs on
  • 329.  
    Above the portico a flag-staff, bearing the Union Jack,
    remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ultimately when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts,
  • 330.  
    I've never sailed the Amazon,
    I've never reached Brazil;But the Don and Magdalena,
  • 331.  
    1918

  • 332.  
    1902

  • 333.  
    (Died, South African War, March 27, 1900)

  • 334.  
    "I have a thousand men," said he,
    "To wait upon my will;And towers nine upon the Tyne,
  • 335.  
    The miracle of our land's speech--so known
    And long received, none marvel when 'tis shown!
  • 336.  
    There dwells a wife by the Northern Gate,
    And a wealthy wife is she;She breeds a breed o' rovin' men
  • 337.  
    Modern Machinery
    We were taken from the ore-bed and the mine, We were melted in the furnace and the pit--
  • 338.  
    When the waters' countenance
    Blurs 'twixt glance and second glance;When our tattered smokes forerun
  • 339.  
    WHEN you come to London Town,
    (Grieving-grieving!)Bring your flowers and lay them down
  • 340.  
    The Camel's hump is an ugly lump
    Which well you may see at the Zoo;But uglier yet is the hump we get
  • 341.  
    R. W. Emerson

  • 342.  
    1918

  • 343.  
    There's a pasture in a valley where the hanging woods divide,
    And a Herd lies down and ruminates in peace;Where the pheasant rules the nooning, and the owl the twilight tide,
  • 344.  
    Nothing in life has been made by man for man's using
    But it was shown long since to man in agesLost as the name of the maker of it,
  • 345.  
    Not in the thick of the fight,
    Not in the press of the odds,Do the heroes come to their height,
  • 346.  
    The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar -
    Down to the dark, to the utter dark, where the blind white sea-snakes are.There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the deep,
  • 347.  
    Allowing for the difference 'twixt prose and rhymed exaggeration, this ought to reproduce the sense of what Sir A-- told the nation sometime ago, when the Government struck from our incomes two per cent.

  • 348.  
    After He Has Been Extemporising On an Instrument Not Of His Own Invention -- Browning

  • 349.  
    The freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower-
    Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings-And the thorns have covered the city of Gaur.
  • 350.  
    1911

Total 550 poems written by Rudyard Kipling

Poem of the day

The Dome Of Sunday
 by Karl Shapiro

With focus sharp as Flemish-painted face
In film of varnish brightly fixed
And through a polished hand-lens deeply seen,
Sunday at noon through hyaline thin air
Sees down the street,
And in the camera of my eye depicts
Row-houses and row-lives:
Glass after glass, door after door the same,
...

Read complete poem

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