Rudyard Kipling

(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)

Rudyard Kipling Poems

521. Birds Of Prey March 12/31/2002
522. A Dead Statesman 3/29/2010
523. The Way Through The Woods 12/31/2002
524. Follow Me 'Ome 12/31/2002
525. The Vampire 12/31/2002
526. Christmas In India 1/3/2003
527. A Ballad Of Burial 12/31/2002
528. Blue Roses 1/3/2003
529. The Men That Fought At Minden 12/31/2002
530. A Legend Of Truth 1/3/2003
531. The Power Of The Dog 12/31/2002
532. The Young British Soldier 12/31/2002
533. A Smuggler's Song 1/3/2003
534. In Error 1/3/2003
535. Cupid's Arrows 1/3/2003
536. When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted 12/31/2002
537. I Keep Six Honest... 1/3/2003
538. In Springtime 1/3/2003
539. Mary, Pity Women! 12/31/2002
540. Mandalay 12/31/2002
541. Cleared 12/31/2002
542. Mother O' Mine 1/3/2003
543. A Servant When He Reigneth 1/1/2004
544. Angutivaun Taina 12/31/2002
545. Fuzzy-Wuzzy 12/31/2002
546. Gunga Din 12/31/2002
547. A Code Of Morals 1/3/2003
548. A Child's Garden 1/3/2003
549. If 12/31/2002

Comments about Rudyard Kipling

  • Vikram Aarella - The Poem Shooter (5/19/2006 9:44:00 AM)

    Mr Kipling might have born in India, but i did not in some of his poetry like the potryal of India.

    42 person liked.
    52 person did not like.
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.

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