Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/121

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Song of the Wise Children

1902

When the darkened Fifties dip to the North,
  And frost and the fog divide the air,
And the day is dead at his breaking-forth,
  Sirs, it is bitter beneath the Bear!

Far to Southward they wheel and glance,
  The million molten spears of morn—
The spears of our deliverance
  That shine on the house where we were born.

Flying-fish about our bows,
  Flying sea-fires in our wake:
This is the road to our Father's House,
  Whither we go for our souls' sake!

We have forfeited our birthright,
  We have forsaken all things meet;
We have forgotten the look of light,
  We have forgotten the scent of heart.

They that walk with shaded brows,
  Year by year in a shining land,
They be men of our Father's House,
  They shall receive us and understand.

We shall go back by the boltless doors,
  To the life unaltered our childhood knew—
To the naked feet on the cool, dark floors,
  And the high-ceiled rooms that the Trade blows through: