Rudyard Kipling: A Criticism

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John Lane, 1900 - 163 էջ
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Էջ 35 - It's clever, but is it Art?' When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the Clubroom's green and gold, The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mould — They scratch with their pens in the mould of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start, For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: 'It's pretty, but is it Art?
Էջ 27 - British soldier; come you back to Mandalay ! ' Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin from Rangoon to Mandalay?
Էջ 4 - I sat there, while the type ticked and clicked, and the night-jars hooted at the windows, and the all but naked compositors wiped the sweat from their foreheads, and called for water. The thing that was keeping us back, whatever it was, would not come off, though the loo dropped and the last type was set, and the whole round earth stood still in the choking heat, with its finger on its lip, to wait the event. I drowsed, and wondered whether the...
Էջ 62 - The depth and dream of my desire, The bitter paths wherein I stray, Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire, Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay ! 166 One stone the more swings to her place In that dread Temple of Thy Worth — It is enough that through Thy grace I saw naught common on Thy earth.
Էջ 51 - An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves: Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides, Till - hear that note? - the rod's return whings glimmerin" through the guides. They're all awa'! True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goes Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin
Էջ 38 - And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's pride: He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day, And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away. Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides: "Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?
Էջ 14 - And I laughed as I drove from the station, but the mirth died out on my lips As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write of their "Eastern trips...
Էջ 58 - It's like a book, I think, this bloomin' world, Which you can read and care for just so long, But presently you feel that you will die Unless you get the page you're readin' done, An' turn another — likely not so good ; But what you're after is to turn 'em all. Gawd bless this world ! Whatever she 'ath done — Excep' when awful long — I've found it good.
Էջ 49 - I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed the throws, Manholin', on my back — the cranks three inches off my nose. Romance ! Those first-class passengers they like it very well, Printed an' bound in little books ; but why don't poets tell? I 'm sick of all their quirks an...
Էջ 48 - THE earth is full of anger, The seas are dark with wrath, The Nations in their harness Go up against our path: Ere yet we loose the legions — Ere yet we draw the blade, Jehovah of the Thunders, Lord God of Battles, aid ! High lust and froward bearing, Proud heart, rebellious brow — Deaf ear and soul uncaring, We seek Thy mercy now!

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