Rudyard Kipling

(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)

Rudyard Kipling Poems

1. The Landau 1/3/2003
2. The Ballad Of Fisher's Boarding-House 12/31/2002
3. The North Sea Patrol 1/3/2003
4. The Ballad Of Bolivar 12/31/2002
5. The Song Of The Old Guard 12/31/2002
6. The Ballad Of Ahmed Shah 3/29/2010
7. Untitled [you Mustn'T Swim Till You'Re Six Weeks Old] 11/28/2014
8. The Lowestoft Boat 1/3/2003
9. The Legend Of The Foreign Office 1/3/2003
10. The Lament Of The Border Cattle Thief 12/31/2002
11. The Coiner 1/3/2003
12. The Songs Of The Lathes 12/31/2002
13. The Press 1/3/2003
14. The City Of Brass 3/24/2010
15. There Was A Small Boy Of Quebec 2/3/2015
16. The King's Job 1/3/2003
17. The Last Chantey 12/31/2002
18. The Song Of The Sons 12/31/2002
19. The Bother 1/3/2003
20. The Ballad Of Minepit Shaw 1/3/2003
21. The Braggart 1/3/2003
22. The Song Of The Cities 12/31/2002
23. The Conversion Of Aurelian Mcgoggin 1/3/2003
24. The Liner She's A Lady 12/31/2002
25. The Cure 1/3/2003
26. To Thomas Atkins 12/31/2002
27. The Master-Cook 1/3/2003
28. The Legend Of Mirth 1/3/2003
29. The Spies' March 12/31/2002
30. The Man Who Could Write 1/3/2003
31. The Legends Of Evil 1/1/2004
32. The Last Suttee 12/31/2002
33. The Fall Of Jock Gillespie 1/3/2003
34. The New Knighthood 1/3/2003
35. The Appeal 3/29/2010
36. The Jacket 12/31/2002
37. The Nursing Sister 1/3/2003
38. The Outlaws 1/3/2003
39. The Post That Fitted 1/3/2003
40. The Last Ode 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Rudyard Kipling


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 People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the snow--
They beg for coffee and sugar; they go where the white men go.
The People of the Western Ice, they learn to steal and fight;
They sell their furs to the trading-post; they sell their souls to
the white.
The People of the Southern Ice, they trade with the whaler's
Their women have many ribbons, but their tents are torn and few.
But the People of the Elder Ice, beyond the white man's ken--

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