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The Poems of Rudyard Kipling
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1900 edition. Excerpt: ...frenzied hours of waiting, When the Earth and Skies were dumb, Pealed an awful voice dictating An interminable sum, Changing to a tangled 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 1 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 intolerable stillness Rose one little, little star, And it chuckled at my illness, And it mocked me from afar; And its brethren 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. I GO to concert, party, ball--What profit is in these? I sit alone against the wall And strive to look at ease.,1 The incense that is mine by right They burn before Her shrine; And that's because I'm seventeen And She is forty-nine. I cannot check my girlish blush, My color comes and goes; And sometimes to my nose. But She is white where white should And red where red should shine. The blush that flies at seventeen is fixed at forty-nine. I wish I had Her constant cheek: ...
36 pages, Paperback
First published April 28, 1977
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About the author
Rudyard Kipling
6,979 books3,621 followersJoseph Rudyard Kipling was a journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist.
Kipling's works of fiction include The Jungle Book (1894), Kim (1901), and many short stories, including The Man Who Would Be King (1888). His poems include Mandalay (1890), Gunga Din (1890), The Gods of the Copybook Headings (1919), The White Man's Burden (1899), and If— (1910). He is regarded as a major innovator in the art of the short story; his children's books are classics of children's literature; and one critic described his work as exhibiting "a versatile and luminous narrative gift".
Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom, in both prose and verse, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Henry James said: "Kipling strikes me personally as the most complete man of genius (as distinct from fine intelligence) that I have ever known." In 1907, at the age of 41, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, making him the first English-language writer to receive the prize, and its youngest recipient to date. He was also sounded out for the British Poet Laureateship and on several occasions for a knighthood, both of which he declined.
Awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907 "in consideration of the power of observation, originality of imagination, virility of ideas and remarkable talent for narration which characterize the creations of this world-famous author."
Kipling kept writing until the early 1930s, but at a slower pace and with much less success than before. On the night of 12 January 1936, Kipling suffered a haemorrhage in his small intestine. He underwent surgery, but died less than a week later on 18 January 1936 at the age of 70 of a perforated duodenal ulcer. Kipling's death had in fact previously been incorrectly announced in a magazine, to which he wrote, "I've just read that I am dead. Don't forget to delete me from your list of subscribers."
Kipling's works of fiction include The Jungle Book (1894), Kim (1901), and many short stories, including The Man Who Would Be King (1888). His poems include Mandalay (1890), Gunga Din (1890), The Gods of the Copybook Headings (1919), The White Man's Burden (1899), and If— (1910). He is regarded as a major innovator in the art of the short story; his children's books are classics of children's literature; and one critic described his work as exhibiting "a versatile and luminous narrative gift".
Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom, in both prose and verse, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Henry James said: "Kipling strikes me personally as the most complete man of genius (as distinct from fine intelligence) that I have ever known." In 1907, at the age of 41, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, making him the first English-language writer to receive the prize, and its youngest recipient to date. He was also sounded out for the British Poet Laureateship and on several occasions for a knighthood, both of which he declined.
Awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907 "in consideration of the power of observation, originality of imagination, virility of ideas and remarkable talent for narration which characterize the creations of this world-famous author."
Kipling kept writing until the early 1930s, but at a slower pace and with much less success than before. On the night of 12 January 1936, Kipling suffered a haemorrhage in his small intestine. He underwent surgery, but died less than a week later on 18 January 1936 at the age of 70 of a perforated duodenal ulcer. Kipling's death had in fact previously been incorrectly announced in a magazine, to which he wrote, "I've just read that I am dead. Don't forget to delete me from your list of subscribers."
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
July 23, 2019
Lo terminamos ayer. No es para chicos, de hecho pase medio por arriba algunas partes sobre la guerra un poco intensas. A mí me gustó mucho. Uno o dos de ellos, de excelencia.
August 26, 2018
Not quite sure if this is the same edition as the one I read, but thought it worth including the Ballad of Fisher's Boarding House as a Kipling classic:
Twas 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 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 Tarnan in Galicia
To Jaun Bazar 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 0' 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 - light - 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.
Twas 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 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 Tarnan in Galicia
To Jaun Bazar 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 0' 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 - light - 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.
February 8, 2018
Borges dijo, acertadamente, que los últimos cuentos de Kipling no eran menos enigmáticos que los de Kafka; no he leído poesía, estos versos son engañosos y terminaron por desorientarme completamente. Sin embargo, concuerdo con T. S. Elliot: en ellos se asoma la poesía.
May 19, 2019
I enjoyed this poet.
February 23, 2015
Simple.I enjoy his verse .And it's
meter
meter
April 26, 2016
Beautifully written but describes very specific and exclusive situations in a very personal way, which makes it hard to fully relate to the situation unless you yourself have experienced it.
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July 26, 2025🔵⬆️
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews