Rudyard Kipling

(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)

Rudyard Kipling Poems

81. Cupid's Arrows 1/3/2003
82. Dane-Geld 1/3/2003
83. Danny Deever 12/31/2002
84. Darzee's Chount 1/3/2003
85. Death Of A Believer 1/3/2003
86. Dedication 1/3/2003
87. Deep Sea Cables 3/29/2010
88. Delilah 1/3/2003
89. Dinah In Heaven 1/3/2003
90. Dirge Of The Dead Sisters 3/29/2010
91. Divided Destinies 1/3/2003
92. Doctors 1/3/2003
93. Eddi's Service 1/3/2003
94. Edgehill Fight 1/3/2003
95. En-Dor 1/3/2003
96. England's Answer 12/31/2002
97. Et Dona Ferentes 3/29/2010
98. Evarra And His Gods 12/31/2002
99. Evil Land 1/3/2003
100. False Dawn 1/3/2003
101. Farewell And Adieu.... 1/1/2004
102. Fastness 1/3/2003
103. Follow Me 'Ome 12/31/2002
104. For All We Have And Are 1/3/2003
105. For To Admire 12/31/2002
106. Ford O' Kabul River 12/31/2002
107. Four-Feet 1/3/2003
108. Fox-Hunting 3/29/2010
109. France 3/29/2010
110. Frankie's Trade 1/3/2003
111. Fuzzy-Wuzzy 12/31/2002
112. Gallio's Song 1/3/2003
113. Gehazi 1/3/2003
114. General Joubert 1/3/2003
115. Gentlemen-Rankers 12/31/2002
116. Gertrude's Prayer 1/3/2003
117. Gethsemane 1/3/2003
118. Giffen's Debt 1/3/2003
119. Gipsy Vans 1/1/2004
120. Gods Of The East 1/3/2003
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]