Rudyard Kipling



The Garden called Gethsemane
    In Picardy it was,
And there the people came to see
    The English soldiers pass.
We used to pass—we used to pass
    Or halt, as it might be,
And ship our masks in case of gas
    Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane,
    It held a pretty lass,
But all the time she talked to me
    I prayed my cup might pass.
The officer sat on the chair,
    The men lay on the grass,
And all the time we halted there
    I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn’t pass—it didn’t pass—
    It didn’t pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas
    Beyond Gethsemane!

About the poet
Rudyard Kipling
By the same poet
The Ballad of East and West
The Ballad of Fisher’s Boarding-House
Gunga Din
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
The Glory of the Garden
My Boy Jack
The Thousandth Man
The White Man’s Burden
The Fabulists
Gertrude’s Prayer
Harp Song of the Dane Women
Related books
Rudyard Kipling at amazon.co.uk

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