All Poems
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The Lesson
© Rudyard Kipling
Not on a single issue, or in one direction or twain,
But conclusively, comprehensively, and several times and
again,
Adddress To Fancy
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
OH, queen of dreams! 'tis now the hour,
Thy fav'rite hour of silence and of sleep;
Come, bring thy wand, whose magic pow'r,
Can wake the troubled spirits of the deep!
L'Envoi
© Rudyard Kipling
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing: -- "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,
And your English summer's done."
The Legend of Mirth
© Rudyard Kipling
The Four Archangels, so the legends tell,
Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, Azrael,
Being first of those to whom the Power was shown
Stood first of all the Host before The Throne,
Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet XXV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Oh, miracle of love! That death, which seems
So hard a master when he holds his prize,
Whom no cajoleries, nor stratagems
Of beauty's power, nor wisdom's sophistries,
The Legend of Evil
© Rudyard Kipling
I
This is the sorrowful story
Told when the twilight fails
And the monkeys walk together
1805
© Robert Graves
At Viscount Nelsons lavish funeral,
While the mob milled and yelled about St Pauls,
A General chatted with an Admiral:
The Last Rhyme of True Thomas
© Rudyard Kipling
The King has called for priest and cup,
The King has taken spur and blade
To dub True Thomas a belted knight,
And all for the sake o' the songs he made.
The Parlement of Fowls
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne soft{.e},
That hast this wintr{.e}s wedr{.e}s overshak{.e},
And driven away the long{.e} nyght{.e}s blak{.e}!
The Last of the Light Brigade
© Rudyard Kipling
There were thirty million English who talked of England's might,
There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night.
They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade;
They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade.
Ballade To A Lady
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Well, this is where the stuff I stow,
According to old Francois V;
But--once again before I blow--
You make an awful splash with me.
The Last Department
© Rudyard Kipling
Twelve hundred million men are spread
About this Earth, and I and You
Wonder, when You and I are dead,
"What will those luckless millions do?"
On An Air Of Rameau
© Arthur Symons
A melancholy desire of ancient things
Floats like a faded perfume out of the wires;
Pallid lovers, what unforgotten desires,
Whispered once, are retold in your whisperings?
The Last Chantey
© Rudyard Kipling
"And there was no more sea."
Thus said The Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim
Nos Immortales
© Stephen Vincent Benet
I have known hours, slow and golden-glowing,
Lovely with laughter and suffused with light,
O Lord, in such a time appoint my going,
When the hands clench, and the cold face grows white,
And the spark dies within the feeble brain,
Spilling its star-dust back to dust again.
The Land
© Rudyard Kipling
When Julius Fabricius, Sub-Prefect of the Weald,
In the days of Diocletian owned our Lower River-field,
He called to him Hobdenius-a Briton of the Clay,
Saying: "What about that River-piece for layin'' in to hay?"
The Lament of the Border Cattle Thief
© Rudyard Kipling
O woe is me for the merry life
I led beyond the Bar,
And a treble woe for my winsome wife
That weeps at Shalimar.
The Ladies
© Rudyard Kipling
I've taken my fun where I've found it;
I've rouged an' I've ranged in my time;
I've 'ad my pickin' o' seethearts,
An' four o' the lot was prime.
Kitchener's School
© Rudyard Kipling
Being a translation of the song that was made by a Mohammedanschoolmaster of Bengal Infantry (some time on service at Suakim)when he heard that Kitchener was taking money from the English tobuild a Madrissa for Hubshees -- or a college for the Sudanese.
Oh Hubshee, carry your shoes in your hand and bow your head on your breast!
This is the message of Kitchener who did not break you in jest.
It was permitted to him to fulfil the long-appointed years;
Reaching the end ordained of old over your dead Emirs.
