Quote by Rudyard Kipling: “OH, East is East, and West is West, and never t”
Selected Works by poet Rudyard Kipling. The Ballad of East and West. OH, East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,; Till Earth and Sky . The Ballad Of East And West by Rudyard Kipling. vifleem.info East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet Till Earth and Sky stand presently. "East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet" is a famous literary of the refrain of “The Ballad of East and West,” a poem by Rudyard Kipling.
Kamal challenges him to a riding contest, and they gallop until dawn; after 20 miles, the dun falls. Kamal turns, and knocks the pistol out of the son's hand. Kamal says that it was only by his permission that the son had ridden unharmed through his territory. The son counters that his death would cost Kamal's tribesmen the high price of feeding and quartering a large punitive expedition "If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away He demands that Kamal return the mare, and proposes to "fight [his] own way back" to his territory.
Kamal advises him that the theft of the mare, which after all didn't belong to him personally, shouldn't provoke him to place his life at risk with such rash demands.
The Colonel's son reiterates the demand on behalf of his father, at which point the mare returns to him on her own accord. Kamal respects the mare's choice of owner "'We be two strong men The son offers a pistol to Kamal as a return gift between friends, which Kamal accepts.
Kamal then commands his only son to protect the Colonel's son on his return journey and to serve valiantly under him for the British Rajeven if he has to fight against Kamal "for the peace of the border-line".
Kamal foretells his own death by hanging, and the promotion of his son to a high rank in the cavalry. The Colonel's son and Kamal's son swear blood brotherhood. The two young men ride back to the British fort, where Kamal's son is greeted with hostility by the guards.
The Colonel's son admonishes them that his companion is now no longer a border thief, but a fellow soldier. It scoughed the skipper on his way to jock wi' the saloon. Three feet were on the stokehold-floorjust slappin' to an' fro An' cast me on a furnace-door.
I have the marks to show. I ha' marks o' more than burnsdeep in my soul an' black, An' times like this, when things go smooth, my wickudness comes back. The sins o' four an' forty years, all up an' down the seas.
Clack an' repeat like valves half-fed. Nights when I'd come on to deck to mark, wi' envy in my gaze, The couples kittlin' in the dark between the funnel-stays; Years when I raked the Ports wi' pride to fill my cup o' wrong Judge not, O Lord, my steps aside at Gay Street in Hong-Kong! An' waur than allmy crownin' sinrank blasphemy an' wild. I was not four and twenty thenYe wadna judge a child? I'd seen the Tropics first that runnew fruit, new smells, new air How could I tellblinf-fou wi' sun the Deil was lurkin' there?
By day like playhouse-scenes the shore slid past our sleepy eyes; By night thos soft, lasceevious stars leered from those velvet skies, In port we used no cargo-steam I'd daunder down the streets An ijjit grinnin' in a dreamfor shells an' parrakeets, An' walkin'-sticks o' carved bamboo an' blowfish stuffed an' dried Fillin' my bunk wi' rubbishry the Cheif put overside.
An' under all, our screw. That storm blew by but left behind her anchor-shiftin' swell. We wared na run that sea by night but lay an' held our fire, An' I was drowsin' on the hatchsicksick wi' doubt an' tire: Clear as gongsagain, an' once again, When rippin' down through coral-trash ran out our moorin'-chain: An', by Thy Grace, I had the light to see my duty plain.
Light on the engine-roomno morebright as our carbons burn. I've lost it since a thousand times, but never past return! Per annum we'll have here two thousand souls aboard Think not I dare to justify myself before the Lord, Butaverage fifteen hunder souls safe-born fra' port to port I am o' service to my kind.
Ye wadna blame the thought? Maybe they steam from Grace to Wrathto sin by folly led It isna mine to judge their paththeir lives are on my head. Mine at the lastwhen all is done it all comes back to me, The fault that leaves six thousand ton a log upon the sea. We'll tak' one stretchthree weeks an odd by ony road ye steer Fra' Cape Town east to Wellingtonye need an engineer.
Fail thereye've time to weld your shaftay, eat it, ere ye're spoke; Or make Kergueen under sailthree jiggers burned wi' smoke! An' home againthe Rio run: The beergs like kelpies oversde that girn an' turn an' shift Whaur, grindin' like the Mills o' God, goes by the big South drift.
Hail, Snow and Ice that praise the Lord. I've met them at their work, An wished we had anither route or they another kirk.
Who wrote "East is East, and West is | Trivia Answers | QuizzClub
Yon's strain, hard strain, o' head an' hand, for though Thy Power brings All skill to naught, Ye'll underatand a man must think o' things. Then, at the last, we'll get to port an' hoist their baggage clear The passengers, wi' gloves an' canesan' this is what I'll hear: The tender's comin' now. They've words for every one but meshake hands wi' half the crew, Except the dour Scots engineer, the man they never knew.
An' yet I like the wark for all we've dam' few pickin's here No pension, an' the most we'll earn's four hunder pound a year.
I'd sooner starve than sail Wi' such as call a snifter-rod ross. Commeesion on my stores? Some do; but I cannot afford To lie like stewards wi' patty-pans. I'm older than the Board. A bonus on the coal I save? There's bricks that I might recommendan' clink the firebars cruel. WelshWangarti at the worstan' damn all patent fuel!
The Ballad of East and West
Ye must stay in port to mak' a patent pay. My Deeferential Valve-Gear taught me how that business lay. I blame no chaps wi' clearer heads for aught they make or sell. I found that I could not invent an' look to these as well.
So, wrestled wi' ApollyonNah! Ye know how hard an Idol dies, an' what that meant to me E'en tak' it for a sacrifice acceptable to Thee. Ye find it runnin' hard? Ye needn't swill the cup wi' oilthis isn't the Cunard! Ye are not paid to think. Go, sweat that off again! It's deeficult to sweer nor tak' The Name in vain! Men, ay an' women, call me stern.
Never the Twain shall Meet
Wi' these to oversee, Ye'll note I've little time to burn on social repartee. The bairns see what their elders miss; they'll hunt me to an' fro, Till for the sake ofwell, a kissI tak' 'em down below.
That minds me of our Viscount loonSir Kenneth's kinthe chap Wi' Russia leather tennis-shoon an' spar-decked yachtin'-cap. I showed him round last week, o'er allan' at the last says he: I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed the throws, Manholin', on my backthe cranks three inches off my nose.
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' turnsthe loves an' doves they dream Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam! To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime Whaurtouplifted like the Justthe tail-rods mark the time. The crank-throws give the double-bass, the feed-pump sobs an' heaves, An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves: Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides, Tillhear that note?
True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goes Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamos.