Rudyard Kipling

(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)

Rudyard Kipling Poems

161. Lichtenberg 1/3/2003
162. Lispeth 1/3/2003
163. London Stone 3/29/2010
164. Loot 12/31/2002
165. Lord Roberts 1/3/2003
166. Lukannon 1/3/2003
167. Macdonough's Song 1/3/2003
168. Mandalay 12/31/2002
169. M'Andrew's Hymn 1/1/2004
170. Many Inventions 1/3/2003
171. Mary, Pity Women! 12/31/2002
172. Mary's Son 1/3/2003
173. Mcandrew's Hymn 12/31/2002
174. Memories 3/29/2010
175. Merrow Down 1/3/2003
176. Mesopotamia 1/3/2003
177. Mine-Sweepers 1/1/2004
178. Mother O' Mine 1/3/2003
179. Mowgli's Brothers 1/3/2003
180. Mowgli's Song Against People 1/3/2003
181. Mulholland's Contract 12/31/2002
182. Municipal 1/3/2003
183. My Boy Jack? 3/29/2010
184. My Father's Chair 1/3/2003
185. My Lady's Law 1/3/2003
186. My New-Cut Ashlar 1/3/2003
187. My Rival 1/3/2003
188. Natural Theology 1/3/2003
189. Neighbours 1/3/2003
190. Norman And Saxon 1/3/2003
191. Old Fighting-Men 1/3/2003
192. Old Mother Laidinwool 1/3/2003
193. One Viceroy Resigns 1/3/2003
194. Oonts 12/31/2002
195. Our Fathers Also 1/3/2003
196. Our Fathers Of Old 1/3/2003
197. Our Lady Of The Sackcloth 5/14/2012
198. Outsong In The Jungle 1/3/2003
199. Pagett, M.P. 1/3/2003
200. Pan In Vermont 3/29/2010
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]