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Rudyard Kipling

Harp Song of the Dane Women

What is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in—
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you—
Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken—

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters.
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,
The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables—
To pitch her sides and go over her cables.

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,
And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow,
Is all we have left through the months to follow.

Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

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


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