Rudyard Kipling

(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)

Rudyard Kipling Poems

1. A Ballad Of Burial 12/31/2002
2. A Ballade Of Jakko Hill 1/1/2004
3. A Bank Fraud 1/3/2003
4. A Boy Scouts' Patrol Song 1/1/2004
5. A British-Roman Song 1/3/2003
6. A Carol 1/3/2003
7. A Charm 1/3/2003
8. A Child's Garden 1/3/2003
9. A Code Of Morals 1/3/2003
10. A Counting-Out Song 1/3/2003
11. A Dead Statesman 3/29/2010
12. A Death-Bed 1/3/2003
13. A Dedication 1/3/2003
14. A Dedication To Soldiers Three 3/29/2010
15. A Departure 1/3/2003
16. A General Summary 1/3/2003
17. A Legend Of Truth 1/3/2003
18. A Lover's Journey 1/3/2003
19. A Nativity 1/3/2003
20. A Pageant Of Elizabeth 1/3/2003
21. A Pict Song 1/3/2003
22. A Pilgrim's Way 12/31/2002
23. A Preface 1/3/2003
24. A Recantation 1/3/2003
25. A Rector's Memory 1/3/2003
26. A Ripple Song 1/3/2003
27. A School Song 1/3/2003
28. A Servant When He Reigneth 1/1/2004
29. A Smuggler's Song 1/3/2003
30. A Son 3/29/2010
31. A Song In Storm 1/3/2003
32. A Song Of Kabir 1/1/2004
33. A Song Of The English 12/31/2002
34. Alnaschar And The Oxen 3/29/2010
35. An American 12/31/2002
36. An Astrologer's Song 12/31/2002
37. An Imperial Rescript 12/31/2002
38. An Old Song 1/3/2003
39. Anchor Song 12/31/2002
40. Angutivaun Taina 12/31/2002
Best Poem of 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 impostors just the ...

Read the full of If

The First Chantey

Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her;
Haling her dumb from the camp, took her and bound her.
Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her;
Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.

Swift through the forest we ran; none stood to guard us,
Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us --
Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen.
Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen.

[Hata Bildir]