Стихотворения на английском языке: Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936 (Редьярд Киплинг)



В этом разделе вы найдёте стихотворения на английском языке: Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936 (Редьярд Киплинг)

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The Gods Of The Copybook Headings

As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race, I make my proper
prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn.
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breath of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market-Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch.
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul; But, though we had
plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not God that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four-
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man-
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began:-
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wobbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!


Alone upon the housetops to the North
I turn and watch the lightnings in the sky
The glamour of thy footsteps in the North.
Come back to me. Beloved, or I die.

Below my feet the still bazar is laid -
Far, far below the weary camels lie -
The camels and the captives of thy raid.
Come back to me. Beloved, or I die.

My father's wife is old and harsh with years,
And drudge of all my father's house am I -
My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears.
Come back to me. Beloved, or I die.


Men make them fires on the hearth
Each under his roof-tree,
And the Four Winds that rule the earth
They blow the smoke to me.

Across the high hills and the sea
And all the changeful skies,
The Four Winds blow the smoke to me
Till the tears are in my eyes.

Until the tears are in my eyes
And my heart is well-nigh broke
For thinking on old memories
That gather in the smoke.

With every shift of every wind
The homesick memories come,
From every quarter of mankind
Where I have made me a home.

Four times a fire against the cold
And a roof against the rain -
Sorrow fourfold and joy fourfold
The Four Winds bring again!

How can I answer which is best
Of all the fires that burn?
I have been too often host or guest
At every fire in turn.

How can I turn from any fire,
On any man's hearthstone?
I know the wonder and desire
That went to build my own!

How can I doubt man's joy or woe
Where 'er his house-fires shine,
Since all that man must undergo
Will visit me at mine?

Oh, you Four Winds that blow so strong
And know that this is true,
Stoop for a little and carry my song
To all the men I knew!

Where there are fires against the cold,
Or roofs against the rain -
With love fourfold and joy fourfold,
Take them my songs again!


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 forward bearing, Proud heart, rebellious brow —
Deaf ear and soul uncaring, We seek Thy mercy now!
The sinner that forswore Thee, The fool that passed Thee by,
Our times are known before Thee —
Lord, grant us strength to die!

For those who kneel beside us At altars not Thine own,
Who lack the lights that guide us, Lord, let their faith atone!
If wrong we did to call them, By honour bound they came;
Let not Thy Wrath befall them, But deal to us the blame.

From panic, pride, and terror, Revenge that knows no rein —
Light haste and lawless error, Protect us yet again.
Cloke Thou our undeserving, Make firm the shuddering breath,
In silence and unswerving To taste Thy lesser death.

Ah, Mary pierced with sorrow,
Remember, reach and save The soul that comes to-morrow
Before the God that gave! Since each was born of woman,
For each at utter need — True comrade and true foeman —
Madonna, intercede!

E’en now their vanguard gathers, E’en now we face the fray —
As Thou didst help our fathers, Help Thou our host to-day.
Fulfilled of signs and wonders, In life, in death made clear —
Jehovah of the Thunders, Lord God of Battles, hear!


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В этом разделе вы найдёте Стихотворения на английском языке: Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936 (Редьярд Киплинг)

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