Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
The King
“F
“With bone well carved he went away,
“Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
“And jasper tips the spear to-day.
“Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,
“And He with these. Farewell, Romance!”
“We lift the weight of flatling years;
“The caverns of the mountain-side
“Hold Him who scorns our hutted piers.
“Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,
“Guard ye His rest. Romance, Farewell!”
“By sleight of sword we may not win,
“But scuffle ’mid uncleanly smoke
“Of arquebus and culverin.
“Honour is lost, and none may tell
“Who paid good blows. Romance, farewell!”
“Our keels have lain with every sea;
“The dull-returning wind and tide
“Heave up the wharf where we would be;
“The known and noted breezes swell
“Our trudging sails. Romance, farewell!”
“He vanished with the coal we burn.
“Our dial marks full-steam ahead,
“Our speed is timed to half a turn.
“Sure as the ferried barge we ply
“’Twixt port and port. Romance, good-bye!”
“He never ran to catch his train,
“But passed with coach and guard and horn—
“And left the local—late again!”
Confound Romance!… And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.
His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,
His whistle waked the snowbound grade,
His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;
By dock and deep and mine and mill
The Boy-god reckless laboured still!
Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,
With unconsidered miracle,
Hedged in a backward-gazing world:
Then taught his chosen bard to say:
“Our King was with us—yesterday!”