To Motorists

Since ye distemper and defile
Sweet Here by the measured mile,
Nor aught on jocund highways heed
Except the evidence of speed;
And bear about your dreadful task
Faces beshrouded 'neath a mask;
Great goblin eyes and glue hands
And souls enslaved to gears and bands;
Here shall no graver curse be said
Than, though y'are quick, that ye are dead!

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

Rudyard

The Braggart

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

Loot

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Norman And Saxon

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

That Day

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

English

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The Ballad Of The Cars

"Now this is the price of a stirrup-cup,"
The kneeling doctor said.
And syne he bade them take him up,
For he saw that the man was dead.

They took him up, and they laid him down
( And, oh, he did not stir ),
And they had him into the nearest town
To wait the Coroner.

They drew the dead-cloth over the face,
They closed the doors upon,
And the cars that were parked in the market-place
Made talk of it anon.

Then up and spake a Daimler wide,
That carries the slatted tank:
"'Tis we must purge the country-side
And no man will us thank.

"For while they pray at Holy Kirk
The souls should turn from sin,
We cock our bonnets to the work,
And gather the drunken in.

"And if we spare them for the nonce,
Or their comrade...

Rudyard

The Dying Chauffeur

Wheel me gently to the garage, since my car and I must part,
No more for me the record and the run.
That cursed left-hand cylinder the doctors call my heart
Is pinking past redemption, I am done!

They'll never strike a mixture that'll help me pull my load.
My gears are stripped, I cannot set my brakes.
I am entered for the finals down the timeless untimed Road
To the Maker of the makers of all makes!

Rudyard

Heriot's Ford

"What's that that hirples at my side?"
The foe that you must fight, my lord.
"That rides as fast as I can ride?"
The shadow of your might, my lord.

"Then wheel my horse against the foe!"
He's down and overpast, my lord.
You war against the sunset-glow,
The judgment follows fast, my lord!

"Oh, who will stay the sun's descent?"
King Joshua he is dead, my lord.
"I need an hour to repent!"
'Tis what our sister said, my lord.

"Oh, do not slay me in my sins!"
You're safe awhile with us, my lord.
"Nay, kill me ere my fear begins!"
We would not serve you thus, my lord.

"Where is the doom that I must face? "
Three little leagues away, my lord.
"Then mend the horses' laggard pace!"
We need them for next day, my lord.

"Ne...

Rudyard

Municipal

"Why is my District death-rate low?"
Said Binks of Hezabad.
"Well, drains, and sewage-outfalls are
"My own peculiar fad.
"I learnt a lesson once, It ran
"Thus," quoth that most veracious man:

It was an August evening and, in snowy garments clad,
I paid a round of visits in the lines of Hezabad;
When, presently, my Waler saw, and did not like at all,
A Commissariat elephant careering down the Mall.

I couldn't see he driver, and across my mind it rushed
That that Commissariat elephant had suddenly gone musth.
I didn't care to meet him, and I couldn't well get down,
So I let the Waler have it, and we headed for the town.

The buggy was a new one and, praise Dykes, it stood the strain,
Till he Waler jumped a bullock just above the City Drain;
And ...

Rudyard

To The Motorist

    My dear Sir, -
    When men have nightmares, they dream about you.
    I myself have been chased over the tops of pinnacles
    By flaming-eyed Panhards and Durkopps
    In my sleep.
    Nor is this all,
    For if one brings oneself
    To read reports of the proceedings of police courts
    One finds that the average citizen
    Gets more or less chased by you sir,
    In his waking moments.
    The Police I know, sir, seldom speak the truth:
    They remember so well the day
    When a horseless carriage had to be taken through the street
    At the speed of a funeral march,
    And with a red flag in front of it,
    That the spectacle of an affable motorist
    Bowling through a Surrey village
    To the tune of six miles an hour
    Sh...

Thomas William Hodgson Crosland

The Beginner

Lo! What is this that I make, sudden, supreme, unrehearsed,
This that my clutch in the crowd pressed at a venture has raised?
Forward and onward I sprang when I thought (as I ought) I reversed,
And a cab like martagon opes and I sit in the wreckage dazed.

And someone is taking my name, and the driver is rending the air
With cries for my blood and my gold, and a snickering news-boy brings
My cap, wheel-pashed from the kerb. I must run her home for repair,
Where she leers with her bonnet awry, flat on the nether springs!

Rudyard