Top 20 Most Popular Poems of Rudyard Kipling

These are the top twenty (20) most popular poems of Rudyard Kipling.

From The Undertaker’s Horse to A Lover’s Journey.

If you want to know his greatest poems of all time, then this poetry collection is for you.

Keep reading!.

The Undertaker’s Horse


“To-tschin-shu is condemned to death.
How can he drink tea with the Executioner?”
Japanese Proverb.


The eldest son bestrides him,
And the pretty daughter rides him,
And I meet him oft o’ mornings on the Course;
And there kindles in my bosom
An emotion chill and gruesome
As I canter past the Undertaker’s Horse.


Neither shies he nor is restive,
But a hideously suggestive
Trot, professional and placid, he affects;
And the cadence of his hoof-beats
To my mind this grim reproof beats:,
“Mend your pace, my friend, I’m coming. Who’s the next?”


Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen,
I have watched the strongest go, men
Of pith and might and muscle, at your heels,
Down the plantain-bordered highway,
(Heaven send it ne’er be my way!)
In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels.

Answer, sombre beast and dreary,
Where is Brown, the young, the cheery,
Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force?
You were at that last dread dak
We must cover at a walk,
Bring them back to me, O Undertaker’s Horse!


With your mane unhogged and flowing,
And your curious way of going,
And that businesslike black crimping of your tail,
E’en with Beauty on your back, Sir,
Pacing as a lady’s hack, Sir,
What wonder when I meet you I turn pale?

It may be you wait your time, Beast,
Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast,
Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass,
Follow after with the others,
Where some dusky heathen smothers
Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass.


Or, perchance, in years to follow,
I shall watch your plump sides hollow,
See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse,
See old age at last o’erpower you,
And the Station Pack devour you,
I shall chuckle then, O Undertaker’s Horse!

But to insult, jibe, and quest, I’ve
Still the hideously suggestive
Trot that hammers out the unrelenting text,
And I hear it hard behind me
In what place soe’er I find me:,
“‘Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who’s the next?”

Rudyard Kipling

If….


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream, and not make dreams your master;
If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;


If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings, nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And, which is more, you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

Ballad Of Fisher’s Boarding-House


‘T was Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house,
Where sailor-men reside,
And there were men of all the ports
From Mississip to Clyde,
And regally they spat and smoked,
And fearsomely they lied.


They lied about the purple Sea
That gave them scanty bread,
They lied about the Earth beneath,
The Heavens overhead,
For they had looked too often on
Black rum when that was red.


They told their tales of wreck and wrong,
Of shame and lust and fraud,
They backed their toughest statements with
The Brimstone of the Lord,
And crackling oaths went to and fro
Across the fist-banged board.

And there was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
Who carried on his hairy chest
The maid Ultruda’s charm
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.


And there was Jake Without-the-Ears,
And Pamba the Malay,
And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook,
And Luz from Vigo Bay,
And Honest Jack who sold them slops
And harvested their pay.


And there was Salem Hardieker,
A lean Bostonian he
Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn,
Yank, Dane, and Portugee,
At Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house
They rested from the sea.


Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks,
Collinga knew her fame,
From Tarnau in Galicia
To Juan Bazaar she came,
To eat the bread of infamy
And take the wage of shame.


She held a dozen men to heel
Rich spoil of war was hers,
In hose and gown and ring and chain,
From twenty mariners,
And, by Port Law, that week, men called
Her Salem Hardieker’s.


But seamen learnt what landsmen know
That neither gifts nor gain
Can hold a winking Light o’ Love
Or Fancy’s flight restrain,
When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes
On Hans the blue-eyed Dane.

Since Life is strife, and strife means knife,
From Howrah to the Bay,
And he may die before the dawn
Who liquored out the day,
In Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house
We woo while yet we may.


But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
And laughter shook the chest beneath
The maid Ultruda’s charm
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.

“You speak to Salem Hardieker;
“You was his girl, I know.
“I ship mineselfs to-morrow, see,
“Und round the Skaw we go,
“South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm,
“To Besser in Saro.”


When love rejected turns to hate,
All ill betide the man.
“You speak to Salem Hardieker”
She spoke as woman can.
A scream a sob “He called me names!”
And then the fray began.


An oath from Salem Hardieker,
A shriek upon the stairs,
A dance of shadows on the wall,
A knife-thrust unawares
And Hans came down, as cattle drop,
Across the broken chairs.


. . . . . .


In Anne of Austria’s trembling hands
The weary head fell low:
“I ship mineselfs to-morrow, straight
“For Besser in Saro;
“Und there Ultruda comes to me
“At Easter, und I go

“South, down the Cattegat What’s here?
“There are no lights to guide!”
The mutter ceased, the spirit passed,
And Anne of Austria cried
In Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house
When Hans the mighty died.


Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
But Anne of Austria looted first
The maid Ultruda’s charm
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.

Rudyard Kipling

Commonplaces


Rain on the face of the sea,
Rain on the sodden land,
And the window-pane is blurred with rain
As I watch it, pen in hand.


Mist on the face of the sea,
Mist on the sodden land,
Filling the vales as daylight fails,
And blotting the desolate sand.


Voices from out of the mist,
Calling to one another:
“Hath love an end, thou more than friend,
Thou dearer than ever brother?”


Voices from out of the mist,
Calling and passing away;
But I cannot speak, for my voice is weak,
And … this is the end of my lay.

Rudyard Kipling

A Child’s Garden


R. L. Stevenson – The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)


Now there is nothing wrong with me
Except, I think it’s called T.B.
And that is why I have to lay
Out in the garden all the day.


Our garden is not very wide,
And cars go by on either side,
And make an angry-hooty noise
That rather startles little boys.

But worst of all is when they take
Me out in cars that growl and shake,
With charabancs so dreadful-near
I have to shut my eyes for fear.


But when I’m on my back again,
I watch the Croydon aeroplane
That flies across to France, and sings
Like hitting thick piano-strings.

When I am strong enough to do
The things I’m truly wishful to,
I’ll never use a car or train
But always have an aeroplane;


And just go zooming round and round,
And frighten Nursey with the sound,
And see the angel-side of clouds,
And spit on all those motor-crowds!

Rudyard Kipling

A Dead Statesman


I could not dig; I dared not rob:
Therefore I lied to please the mob.
Now all my lies are proved untrue
And I must face the men I slew.
What tale shall serve me here among
Mine angry and defrauded young?

Rudyard Kipling

The Children’s Song


Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee
Our love and toil in the years to be;
When we are grown and take our place
As men and women with our race.


Father in Heaven who lovest all,
Oh, help Thy children when they call;
That they may build from age to age
An undefiled heritage.


Teach us to bear the yoke in youth,
With steadfastness and careful truth;
That, in our time, Thy Grace may give
The Truth whereby the Nations live.


Teach us to rule ourselves alway,
Controlled and cleanly night and day;
That we may bring, if need arise,
No maimed or worthless sacrifice.

Teach us to look in all our ends
On Thee for judge, and not our friends;
That we, with Thee, may walk uncowed
By fear or favour of the crowd.


Teach us the Strength that cannot seek,
By deed or thought, to hurt the weak;
That, under Thee, we may possess
Man’s strength to comfort man’s distress.


Teach us Delight in simple things,
And Mirth that has no bitter springs;
Forgiveness free of evil done,
And Love to all men ‘neath the sun!

Land of our Birth, our faith, our pride,
For whose dear sake our fathers died;
Oh, Motherland, we pledge to thee
Head, heart and hand through the years to be!

Rudyard Kipling

Butterflies


Eyes aloft, over dangerous places,
The children follow the butterflies,
And, in the sweat of their upturned faces,
Slash with a net at the empty skies.


So it goes they fall amid brambles,
And sting their toes on the nettle-tops,
Till, after a thousand scratches and scrambles,
They wipe their brows and the hunting stops.


Then to quiet them comes their father
And stills the riot of pain and grief,
Saying, “Little ones, go and gather
Out of my garden a cabbage-leaf.


“You will find on it whorls and clots of
Dull grey eggs that, properly fed,
Turn, by way of the worm, to lots of
Glorious butterflies raised from the dead.”


“Heaven is beautiful, Earth is ugly,”
The three-dimensioned preacher saith;
So we must not look where the snail and the slug lie
For Psyche’s birth…. And that is our death!

Rudyard Kipling

A Bank Fraud


He drank strong waters and his speech was coarse;
He purchased raiment and forbore to pay’;
He stuck a trusting junior with a horse,
And won gymkhanas in a doubtful way.
Then ‘twixt a vice and folly, turned aside
To do good deeds and straight to cloak them, lied.

Rudyard Kipling

A Ballade Of Burial


“Saint Praxed’s ever was the Church for peace”


If down here I chance to die,
Solemnly I beg you take
All that is left of “I”
To the Hills for old sake’s sake,
Pack me very thoroughly
In the ice that used to slake
Pegs I drank when I was dry,
This observe for old sake’s sake.


To the railway station hie,
There a single ticket take
For Umballa, goods-train, I
Shall not mind delay or shake.
I shall rest contentedly
Spite of clamour coolies make;
Thus in state and dignity
Send me up for old sake’s sake.

Next the sleepy Babu wake,
Book a Kalka van “for four.”
Few, I think, will care to make
Journeys with me any more
As they used to do of yore.
I shall need a “special” brake,
‘Thing I never took before,
Get me one for old sake’s sake.


After that, arrangements make.
No hotel will take me in,
And a bullock’s back would break
‘Neath the teak and leaden skin
Tonga-ropes are frail and thin,
Or, did I a back-seat take,
In a tonga I might spin,
Do your best for old sake’s sake.


After that, your work is done.
Recollect a Padre must
Mourn the dear departed one,
Throw the ashes and the dust.
Don’t go down at once. I trust
You will find excuse to “snake
Three days’ casual on the bust.”
Get your fun for old sake’s sake.

I could never stand the Plains.
Think of blazing June and May
Think of those September rains
Yearly till the Judgment Day!
I should never rest in peace,
I should sweat and lie awake.
Rail me then, on my decease,
To the Hills for old sake’s sake.

Rudyard Kipling

“Birds Of Prey” March


March! The mud is cakin’ good about our trousies.
Front!, eyes front, an’ watch the Colour-casin’s drip.
Front! The faces of the women in the ‘ouses
Ain’t the kind o’ things to take aboard the ship.

Cheer! An’ we’ll never march to victory.
Cheer! An’ we’ll never live to ‘ear the cannon roar!
The Large Birds o’ Prey
They will carry us away,
An’ you’ll never see your soldiers any more!


Wheel! Oh, keep your touch; we’re goin’ round a corner.
Time!, mark time, an’ let the men be’ind us close.
Lord! the transport’s full, an’ ‘alf our lot not on ‘er,
Cheer, O cheer! We’re going off where no one knows.

March! The Devil’s none so black as ‘e is painted!
Cheer! We’ll ‘ave some fun before we’re put away.
‘Alt, an’ ‘and ‘er out, a woman’s gone and fainted!
Cheer! Get on!, Gawd ‘elp the married men to-day!


Hoi! Come up, you ‘ungry beggars, to yer sorrow.
(‘Ear them say they want their tea, an’ want it quick!)
You won’t have no mind for slingers, not to-morrow,
No; you’ll put the ‘tween-decks stove out, bein’ sick!


‘Alt! The married kit ‘as all to go before us!
‘Course it’s blocked the bloomin’ gangway up again!
Cheer, O cheer the ‘Orse Guards watchin’ tender o’er us,
Keepin’ us since eight this mornin’ in the rain!


Stuck in ‘eavy marchin’-order, sopped and wringin’,
Sick, before our time to watch ‘er ‘eave an’ fall,
‘Ere’s your ‘appy ‘ome at last, an’ stop your singin’.
‘Alt! Fall in along the troop-deck! Silence all!

Cheer! For we’ll never live to see no bloomin’ victory!
Cheer! An’ we’ll never live to ‘ear the cannon roar! (One cheer more!)
The jackal an’ the kite
‘Ave an ‘ealthy appetite,
An’ you’ll never see your soldiers any more! (‘Ip! Urroar!)
The eagle an’ the crow
They are waitin’ ever so,
An’ you’ll never see your soldiers any more! (‘Ip! Urroar!)
Yes, the Large Birds o’ Prey
They will carry us away,
An’ you’ll never see your soldiers any more!

Rudyard Kipling

A Boy Scouts’ Patrol Song


These are our regulations,
There’s just one law for the Scout
And the first and the last, and the present and the past,
And the future and the perfect is “Look out!”
I, thou and he, look out!
We, ye and they, look out!
Though you didn’t or you wouldn’t
Or you hadn’t or you couldn’t;
You jolly well must look out!


Look out, when you start for the day
That your kit is packed to your mind;
There is no use going away
With half of it left behind.
Look out that your laces are tight,
And your boots are easy and stout,
Or you’ll end with a blister at night.
(Chorus) All Patrols look out!


Look out for the birds of the air,
Look out for the beasts of the field,
They’ll tell you how and where
The other side’s concealed.
When the blackbird bolts from the copse,
Or the cattle are staring about,
The wise commander stops
And (chorus) All Patrols look out!


Look out when your front is clear,
And you feel you are bound to win.
Look out for your flank and your rear,
That’s where surprises begin.
For the rustle that isn’t a rat,
For the splash that isn’t a trout,
For the boulder that may be a hat
(Chorus) All Patrols look out!


For the innocent knee-high grass,
For the ditch that never tells,
Look out! Look out ere you pass,
And look out for everything else!
A sign mis-read as you run
May turn retreat to a rout,
For all things under the sun
(Chorus) All Patrols look out!

Look out when your temper goes
At the end of a losing game;
When your boots are too tight for your toes;
And you answer and argue and blame.
It’s the hardest part of the Low,
But it has to be learnt by the Scout,
For whining and shirking and “jaw”
(Chorus) All Patrols look out!

Rudyard Kipling

A School Song


“Let us now praise famous men”,
Men of little showing,
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continues,
Greater then their knowing!

Western wind and open surge
Took us from our mothers,
Flung us on a naked shore
(Twelve bleak houses by the shore.
Seven summers by the shore!)
‘Mid two hundred brothers.


There we met with famous men
Set in office o’er us;
And they beat on us with rods,
Faithfully with many rods,
Daily beat us on with rods,
For the love they bore us!


Out of Egypt unto Troy,
Over Himalaya,
Far and sure our bands have gone,
Hy-Brazil or Babylon,
Islands of the Southern Run,
And Cities of Cathaia!


And we all praise famous men,
Ancients of the College;
For they taught us common sense,
Tried to teach us common sense,
Truth and God’s Own Common Sense,
Which is more than knowledge!

Each degree of Latitude
Strung about Creation
Seeth one or more of us
(Of one muster each of us),
Diligent in that he does,
Keen in his vocation.


This we learned from famous men,
Knowing not its uses,
When they showed, in daily work,
Man must finish off his work,
Right or wrong, his daily work,
And without excuses.


Servant of the Staff and chain,
Mine and fuse and grapnel,
Some, before the face of Kings,
Stand before the face of Kings;
Bearing gifts to divers Kings,
Gifts of case and shrapnel.

This we learned from famous men
Teaching in our borders,
Who declared it was best,
Safest, easiest, and best,
Expeditious, wise, and best,
To obey your orders.


Some beneath the further stars
Bear the greater burden:
Set to serve the lands they rule,
(Save he serve no man may rule ),
Serve and love the lands they rule;
Seeking praise nor guerdon.


This we learned from famous men,
Knowing not we learned it.
Only, as the years went by,
Lonely, as the years went by,
Far from help as years went by,
Plainer we discerned it.


Wherefore praise we famous men
From whose bays we borrow,
They that put aside To-day,
All the joys of their To-day,
And with toil of their To-day
Bought for us To-morrow!

Bless and praise we famous men,
Men of little showing,
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continueth,
Great beyond their knowing!

Rudyard Kipling

A Song In Storm


Be well assured that on our side
The abiding oceans fight,
Though headlong wind and heaping tide
Make us their sport to-night.
By force of weather, not of war,
In jeopardy we steer.
Then welcome Fate’s discourtesy
Whereby it shall appear
How in all time of our distress,
And our deliverance too,
The game is more than the player of the game,
And the ship is more than the crew!


Out of the mist into the mirk
The glimmering combers roll.
Almost these mindless waters work
As though they had a soul,
Almost as though they leagued to whelm
Our flag beneath their green:
Then welcome Fate’s discourtesy
Whereby it shall be seen, etc.


Be well assured, though wave and wind
Have mightier blows in store,
That we who keep the watch assigned
Must stand to it the more;
And as our streaming bows rebuke
Each billow’s baulked career,
Sing, welcome Fate’s discourtesy
Whereby it is made clear, etc.

No matter though our decks be swept
And mast and timber crack,
We can make good all loss except
The loss of turning back.
So, ‘twixt these Devils and our deep
Let courteous trumpets sound,
To welcome Fate’s discourtesy
Whereby it will be found, etc.


Be well assured, though in our power
Is nothing left to give
But chance and place to meet the hour,
And leave to strive to live.
Till these dissolve our Order holds,
Our Service binds us here.
Then welcome Fate’s discourtesy
Whereby it is made clear
How in all time of our distress,
As in our triumph too,
The game is more than the player of the game
And the ship is more than the crew!

Rudyard Kipling

A Code Of Morals


Lest you should think this story true
I merely mention I
Evolved it lately. ‘Tis a most
Unmitigated misstatement.


Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house in order,
And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the Afghan border,
To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he left he taught
His wife the working of the Code that sets the miles at naught.

And Love had made him very sage, as Nature made her fair;
So Cupid and Apollo linked , per heliograph, the pair.
At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise,
At e’en, the dying sunset bore her husband’s homilies.


He warned her ‘gainst seductive youths in scarlet clad and gold,
As much as ‘gainst the blandishments paternal of the old;
But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby the ditty hangs)
That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant-General Bangs.


‘Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, who tittupped on the way,
When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play.
They thought of Border risings, and of stations sacked and burnt,
So stopped to take the message down, and this is whay they learnt,

“Dash dot dot, dot, dot dash, dot dash dot” twice. The General swore.
“Was ever General Officer addressed as ‘dear’ before?
“‘My Love,’ i’ faith! ‘My Duck,’ Gadzooks! ‘My darling popsy-wop!’
“Spirit of great Lord Wolseley, who is on that mountain top?”


The artless Aide-de-camp was mute, the gilded Staff were still,
As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that message from the hill;
For clear as summer lightning-flare, the husband’s warning ran:,
“Don’t dance or ride with General Bangs, a most immoral man.”

[At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise,
But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large hath eyes.]
With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed his wife
Some interesting details of the General’s private life.


The artless Aide-de-camp was mute, the shining Staff were still,
And red and ever redder grew the General’s shaven gill.
And this is what he said at last (his feelings matter not):
“I think we’ve tapped a private line. Hi! Threes about there! Trot!”

All honour unto Bangs, for ne’er did Jones thereafter know
By word or act official who read off that helio.
But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni to Mooltan
They know the worthy General as “that most immoral man.”

Rudyard Kipling

A Tree Song


Of all the trees that grow so fair,
Old England to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun,
Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.
Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs,
(All of a Midsummer morn!)
Surely we sing no little thing,
In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!


Oak of the Clay lived many a day,
Or ever AEneas began.
Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,
When Brut was an outlaw man.
Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town
(From which was London born);
Witness hereby the ancientry
Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!


Yew that is old in churchyard-mould,
He breedeth a mighty bow.
Alder for shoes do wise men choose,
And beech for cups also.
But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,
And your shoes are clean outworn,
Back ye must speed for all that ye need,
To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!


Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth
Till every gust be laid,
To drop a limb on the head of him
That anyway trusts her shade:
But whether a lad be sober or sad,
Or mellow with ale from the horn,
He will take no wrong when he lieth along
‘Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!


Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,
Or he would call it a sin;
But we have been out in the woods all night,
A-conjuring Summer in!
And we bring you news by word of mouth,
Good news for cattle and corn,
Now is the Sun come up from the South,
With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!


Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs
(All of a Midsummer morn):
England shall bide ti11 Judgment Tide,
By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Rudyard Kipling

Blue Roses


Roses red and roses white
Plucked I for my love’s delight.
She would none of all my posies,
Bade me gather her blue roses.


Half the world I wandered through,
Seeking where such flowers grew.
Half the world unto my quest
Answered me with laugh and jest.


Home I came at wintertide,
But my silly love had died
Seeking with her latest breath
Roses from the arms of Death.

It may be beyond the grave
She shall find what she would have.
Mine was but an idle quest,
Roses white and red are best!

Rudyard Kipling

A Carol


Our Lord Who did the Ox command
To kneel to Judah’s King,
He binds His frost upon the land
To ripen it for Spring,
To ripen it for Spring, good sirs,
According to His Word.
Which well must be as ye can see,
And who shall judge the Lord?


When we poor fenmen skate the ice
Or shiver on the wold,
We hear the cry of a single tree
That breaks her heart in the cold,
That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs,
And rendeth by the board.
Which well must be as ye can see,
And who shall judge the Lord?

Her wood is crazed and little worth
Excepting as to burn,
That we may warm and make our mirth
Until the Spring return,
Until the Spring return, good sirs,
When Christians walk abroad;
When well must be as ye can see,
And who shall judge the Lord?


God bless the master of this house,
And all who sleep therein!
And guard the fens from pirate folk,
And keep us all from sin,
To walk in honesty, good sirs,
Of thought and deed and word!
Which shall befriend our latter end….
And who shall judge the Lord?

Rudyard Kipling

A Death-Bed


“This is the State above the Law.
The State exists for the State alone.”
[This is a gland at the back of the jaw,
And an answering lump by the collar-bone.],
Some die shouting in gas or fire;
Some die silent, by shell and shot.
Some die desperate, caught on the wire;
Some die suddenly.
This will not.
“Regis suprema voluntas Lex”
[It will follow the regular course of throats.]
Some die pinned by the broken decks,
Some die sobbing between the boats.
Some die eloquent, pressed to death
By the sliding trench, as their friends can hear.
Some die wholly in half a breath.
Some give trouble for half a year.
“There is neither Evil nor Good in life
Except as the needs of the State ordain.”
[Since it is rather too late for the knife,
All we can do is to mask the pain.]
Some die saintly in faith and hope,
One died thus in a prison-yard,
Some die broken by rape or the rope;
Some die easily.
This dies hard.
“I will dash to pieces who bar my way.
Woe to the traitor!
Woe to the weak!”
[Let him write what he wishes to say.
It tires him out if he tries to speak.]
Some die quietly.
Some abound In loud self-pity.
Others spread Bad morale through the cots around…
This is a type that is better dead.
“The war was forced on me by my foes.
All that I sought was the right to live.”
[Don’t be afraid of a triple dose;
The pain will neutralize all we give.
Here are the needles.
See that he dies
While the effects of the drug endure….
What is the question he asks with his eyes?,
Yes, All-Highest, to God, be sure.]

Rudyard Kipling

A Lover’s Journey


When a lover hies abroad
Looking for his love,
Azrael smiling sheathes his sword,
Heaven smiles above.
Earth and sea
His servants be,
And to lesser compass round,
That his love be sooner found!

Rudyard Kipling

These are extraordinarily poems indeed! No, wonder he was the first English-language writer who received the Nobel Prize in Literature. He’s doubtlessly one of the best poets of all time.

Of course, I wouldn’t miss reading my most favorite work in his poetry collection―Blue Roses. Even though at the end, it symbolizes death, I couldn’t help but be amazed by how well it was composed by him.

What about you? What’s your most favorite poem of Rudyard Kipling?

Do you still want to add another of his poem to this list? Let me know in the comment section below! 😉

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