WHEN you come to London Town,
Bring your flowers and lay them down
At the place of grieving.
When you come to London Town,
Bow your head and mourn your own,
With the others grieving.
For those minutes, let it wake
All the empty-heart and ache
That is not cured by grieving.
For those minutes, tell no lie:
'Grave, this is thy victory;
And the sting of death is grieving.'
Where's our help, from earth or heaven,
To comfort us for what we've given,
And only gained the grieving.
Heaven's too far and earth too near,
But our neighbour's standing here,
Grieving as we're grieving.
What's his burden every day?
Nothing man can count or weigh,
But loss and love's own grieving.
What is the tie betwixt us two
That must last our whole lives through?
'As I suffer, so do you.'
That may ease the grieving.
Rudyard Kipling's Other Poems
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(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- Heather Burns
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)