Poems – Page 65 – The Kipling Society

Danny Deever

"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade.
"To turn you out, to turn you out," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
"What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade. 
"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
     For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
     The regiment's in 'ollow square - they're hangin' him to-day; 
     They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away, 
     An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. 

"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Files-on-Parade. 
"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
"What makes that front-rank man fall down?" said Files-on-Parade. 
"A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
     They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round, 
     They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground; 
     An' e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound
     O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'! 

"'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on-Parade. 
"'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
"I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files-on-Parade. 
"'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
     They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place, 
     For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' - you must look 'im in the face; 
     Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the Regiment's disgrace, 
     While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

"What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files-on-Parade. 
"It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
"What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-on-Parade. 
"It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
     For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play,
     The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away; 
     Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day, 
     After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

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Dane-geld

1 
IT IS always a temptation to an armed and agile nation
   To call upon a neighbour and to say:–
"We invaded you last night–we are quite prepared to fight,
   Unless you pay us cash to go away."
2
And that is called asking for Dane-geld,
   And the people who ask it explain
That you've only to pay 'em the Dane-geld
   And then you'll get rid of the Dane!
3
It is always a temptation for a rich and lazy nation,
   To puff and look important and to say:–
"Though we know we should defeat you,  
                               we have not the time to meet you.
   We will therefore pay you cash to go away."
4
And that is called paying the Dane-geld;
   But we've proved it again and again,
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
   You never get rid of the Dane.
5
It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
   For fear they should succumb and go astray;
So when you are requested to pay up or be molested,
   You will find it better policy to say:–
6
"We never pay any-one Dane-geld,
   No matter how trifling the cost;
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
   And the nation that plays it is lost!"

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Cupid’s Department

Perched upon the Simla Ridge, as the clocks were warning ten,
Cupid watched the cavalcade of the office-going men;
Very wet his bow and quiver, dripping each ambrosial plume, 
And a little touch of 'liver' filled his Godship's soul with gloom.

So he sneered to see them pass to the tin-topped roofs below— 
'These', quoth he, 'are, one and all, my subordinates you know. 
They may play at what they please—home and foreign policy— 
C.S.I.'s' and C.I.E.'s—but their work is under me.  

Some have served me many years, faithful clerks and zealous they—
Some I pay in solid coin—some I owe a lifetime's pay;
On the honour of a god, it would make the saddest laugh,
Could he only read the roll of my Departmental Staff.

Silver-headed gentlemen, raw and reckless-riding youths, 
Learn of me from four to ten, diverse valuable truths;
Each into my service pressed is, florid Youth and Dotage fading,
And the beauty of the jest is no one knows his rank or grading.

You may take it as a rule, for the comfort of your heart meant, 
Kings are generally Pawns, Pawns are Kings in my Department; 
All exceptions you must settle for yourself by Rule of Two—
If you chance to make an error, very much the worse for you.

All the office rules I keep out of my employes' sight,
They must puzzle out the Code for themselves by Nature's Light.
Yet, despite my rank injustice and the jobs I perpetrate,
My department is the largest and the leading one of State!'

Thus it was with mocking laughter when the clocks had stricken ten,
Cupid sent his blessing after all those office-going men:—
'Play at what you please my servants—home or foreign policy, 
Ruling nations, building bridges—but your work is under me!'

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Cuckoo Song

(Spring begins in Southern England 
on the 14th April, on which date the 
Old Woman lets the Cuckoo out of 
her basket at Heathfield Fair—locally 
known as Heffle Cuckoo Fair.)   


Tell it to the locked-up trees,
Cuckoo, bring your song here!
Warrant, Act and Summons, please,
For Spring to pass along here!
Tell old Winter, if he doubt,
Tell him squat and square—a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman’s let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair—a! 

March has searched and April tried—
’Tisn’t long to May now.
Not so far to Whitsuntide
And Cuckoo’s come to stay now!
Hear the valiant fellow shout
Down the orchard bare—a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman’s let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair—a! 

When your heart is young and gay
And the season rules it—
Work your works and play your play
’Fore the Autumn cools it!
Kiss you turn and turn-about,
But my lad, beware—a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman’s let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair—a!

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Cry “Murder”

Cry "Murder" in the market-place, and each 
Will turn upon his neighbour anxious eyes 
Asking: "Art thou the man?"  We hunted Cain 
Some centuries ago across the world.
This bred the fear our own misdeeds maintain 
To-day.
                                                   Vibart's Moralities

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Cruisers

1 
AS our mother the Frigate, bepainted and fine,
Made play for her bully the Ship of the Line;
So we, her bold daughters by iron and fire,
Accost and decoy to our masters' desire.
2
Now, pray you, consider what toils we endure,
Night-walking wet sea-lanes, a guard and a lure;
Since half of our trade is that same pretty sort
As mettlesome wenches do practise in port.
3
For this is our office — to spy and make room,
As hiding yet guiding the foe to their doom;
Surrounding, confounding, we bait and betray
And tempt them to battle the seas' width away.
4
The pot-bellied merchant foreboding no wrong
With headlight and sidelight he lieth along,
Till, lightless and lightfoot and lurking, leap we
To force him discover his business by sea.
5
And when we have wakened the lust of a foe,
To draw him by flight toward our bullies we go,
Till, 'ware of strange smoke stealing nearer, he flies
Ere our bullies close in for to make him good prize.
6
So, when we have spied on the path of their host,
One flieth to carry that word to the coast;
And, lest by false doublings they turn and go free,
One lieth behind them to follow and see.
7
Anon we return, being gathered again,
Across the sad valleys all drabbled with rain —
Across the grey ridges all crisped and curled —
To join the long dance round the curve of the world.
8
The bitter salt spindrift, the sun-glare likewise,
The moon-track a-tremble, bewilders our eyes,
Where, linking and lifting, our sisters we hail
'Twixt wrench of cross-surges or plunge of head-gale.
9
As maidens awaiting the bride to come forth
Make play with light jestings and wit of no worth,
So, widdershins circling the bride-bed of death,
Each fleereth her neighbour and signeth and saith: —
10
"What see ye? Their signals, or levin afar?
"What hear ye? God's thunder, or guns of our war?
"What mark ye? Their smoke, or the cloud-rack outblown?
"What chase ye? Their lights, or the Daystar low down?"
11
So, times past all number deceived by false shows,
Deceiving we cumber the road of our foes,
For this is our virtue: to track and betray;
Preparing great battles a sea's width away.
12
Now peace is at end and our peoples take heart,
For the laws are clean gone that restrained our art;
Up and down the near headlands and against the far wind
We are loosed (O be swift!) to the work of our kind!

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Crossing The Rubicon

A cry in the silent night,
  A white face turned to the wall,
A pang and then in the minds of men
   Forgotten—and this is all— 

For this are we labouring? 
  Red lips that have pulsed and kissed,
White arms that clasp and cling 
  Grow cold and are not missed—

The mourners mourn and depart— 
  (Piece we the broken chain)
The dead one lives awhile in our heart, 
  Alas, and is dead again–

For as flame that flickers and flies, 
  Our memory comes and goes—
Drowned in the light of human eyes, 
  And a woe in the time of woes.

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Credat Judaeus

               FIRST COUPLE 

Three couples were we in the lane, 
Keeping our walks and turning again;
        At the point where we meet 
        The roar of the street

Like the sound of a beast in pain 
        Comes faintly. Here all is sweet.
Who were the others?  I did not see.
        Why should I look at the men at all? 
Why should their partners interest me?
        I'm sure that I loved mine best of all.
        Perfect in beauty and grace, 
        Perfect in figure and face,

She with her eyes divine!
        The present for just us two; 
Eternity makes her mine,
        Our love is eternal and true!


               SECOND COUPLE  

Watch them, dearest, cheek to cheek, 
        Arm in arm; when years are past 
        Will their love like our love last,
Still so fond, still cheek to cheek?

There is one true love below;
        We have found it! Others kiss 
        For a little, part and miss,
Grieve awhile, then lightly go.

These in earnest! I have seen 
        Many such; the years will fly, 
        Leave us loving, you and I, 
While they talk of what has been.


                THIRD COUPLE  

I wanted them walks so bad 
With you, and missus is mad
'Cos she says I gad out at night; 
No doubt but what she's right.

Well, I can't stay long, but see, 
Promise to 'old to me,
An I'll 'old to you for hever! 
Them people may court a bit
They don't love like we two!
Oh, George! I've got no one but you. 
'Old by me! Promise it!
And I'll never leave you, never!

        .     .     .     .     .

I, the writer that made them speak, 
            Laughed aloud as I passed the three, 
Strong in a passion to last a week, 
            For Love that is real was given to me!

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Conventionality

Passion and Fire—bah! are they ever linked with beauty?
Beauty and fairness of face? The devils below can tell 
The upper-world folk, if they will,
How it's not the lovely alone that enter the gates of hell.

Heroes and dames of fiction, so wicked, so fair, so accurst,
How we praise their faults and applaud each claptrap speech on the stage!
But red hands may be raised to kill—
The white-mouse eye can sparkle as well as the eagle's with rage.

I knew two people so. Romance! She was nothing at all—
Weak-mouthed and chalky-white, limping, and stuttering too.
He was as dull as ever lead,
Dumb; and we wondered how he had found him words to woo.

Then—God knows how it happened!—there came the crime, and we saw—
The two, how they held together through the trial and all the rest—
Of the dragging chain of the law;—
But alas for Romance! we cut them as though they had been the pest.

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Conspiracy

Two that shall plotte together
   (Craftilie, so craftilie)
Inn the Dark where no Mann strayeth
What is it that Each one sayeth
   Bending lowe?
(Two heads that plott together)
Matter it, if Winter weather
Come upon them suddenlie?
There is that, within the Twaine
Making Joy of present Paine
While long seasons goe.

Two—that shall hide together
   (Secretlie, so secretlie)
In the wildes that no man knoweth
To a place that no man knoweth
   They are gone.
(Two soules that plotte together)
Matters it if Winter weather
   Come upon them where they bee?
There is that within their breaste
   Making Peace of all unreste
While they hide together
   And the long days goe.

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