Rudyard Kipling

(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)

Rudyard Kipling Poems

1. The Parting of the Column 6/10/2015
2. The Landau 1/3/2003
3. The Ballad Of Fisher's Boarding-House 12/31/2002
4. The Ballad Of Bolivar 12/31/2002
5. The Ballad Of Ahmed Shah 3/29/2010
6. Epitaphs Of The War 1/26/2016
7. The Last Chantey 12/31/2002
8. The Lowestoft Boat 1/3/2003
9. The Legend Of The Foreign Office 1/3/2003
10. Untitled [you Mustn'T Swim Till You'Re Six Weeks Old] 11/28/2014
11. The Man Who Could Write 1/3/2003
12. The Lament Of The Border Cattle Thief 12/31/2002
13. The Coiner 1/3/2003
14. The Press 1/3/2003
15. There Was A Small Boy Of Quebec 2/3/2015
16. The Appeal 3/29/2010
17. The Songs Of The Lathes 12/31/2002
18. The North Sea Patrol 1/3/2003
19. The Song Of The Sons 12/31/2002
20. The Song Of The Cities 12/31/2002
21. Hymn of Breaking Strain 8/26/2015
22. The Bother 1/3/2003
23. The Jacket 12/31/2002
24. The Ballad Of Minepit Shaw 1/3/2003
25. The Braggart 1/3/2003
26. The City Of Brass 3/24/2010
27. The Conversion Of Aurelian Mcgoggin 1/3/2003
28. 'Tin Fish' 3/3/2015
29. To Thomas Atkins 12/31/2002
30. The Legend Of Mirth 1/3/2003
31. The Spies' March 12/31/2002
32. The Fall Of Jock Gillespie 1/3/2003
33. The New Knighthood 1/3/2003
34. The Legends Of Evil 1/1/2004
35. The Liner She's A Lady 12/31/2002
36. The Nursing Sister 1/3/2003
37. The Last Ode 1/3/2003
38. The Dying Chauffeur 1/3/2003
39. The Coastwise Lights 12/31/2002
40. The Last Lap 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 ...

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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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