Sunday Kipling

The Gipsy Trail

Rudyard Kipling

The white moth to the closing bine,

  The bee to the opened clover,

And the gipsy blood to the gipsy blood

  Ever the wide world over.

Ever the wide world over, lass,

  Ever the trail held true,

Over the world and under the world,

  And back at the last to you.

Out of the dark of the gorgio camp,

  Out of the grime and the grey

(Morning waits at the end of the world),

  Gipsy, come away!

The wild boar to the sun-dried swamp,

  The red crane to her reed,

And the Romany lass to the Romany lad,

  By the tie of a roving breed.

The pied snake to the rifted rock,

  The buck to the stony plain,

And the Romany lass to the Romany lad,

  And both to the road again.

Both to the road again, again!

  Out on a clean sea-track --

Follow the cross of the gipsy trail

  Over the world and back!

Follow the Romany patteran

   North where the blue bergs sail,

And the bows are grey with the frozen spray,

   And the masts are shod with mail.

Follow the Romany patteran

  Sheer to the Austral Light,

Where the besom of God is the wild South wind,

  Sweeping the sea-floors white.

Follow the Romany patteran

  West to the sinking sun,

Till the junk-sails lift through the houseless drift.

  And the east and west are one.

Follow the Romany patteran

  East where the silence broods

By a purple wave on an opal beach

  In the hush of the Mahim woods.

"The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,

  The deer to the wholesome wold,

And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,

  As it was in the days of old."

The heart of a man to the heart of a maid --

  Light of my tents, be fleet.

Morning waits at the end of the world,

  And the world is all at our feet!

Written in 1892 while on an extended tour through the US and Canada with his new bride, this particular poem appeals to me.  Though I did my travel in reverse of Kipling, I am a gypsy soul, always looking to the horizon for the next adventure.  The list of nations we've visited grows yearly, and I will travel till the day I'm physically incapable of doing so.

~The DO

Sunday Kipling

I have found a new excuse for being a slacker. I simply tell myself "yeah, but I finished the remodel". That way I can convince myself (and anyone who asks) that I'm really just resting as opposed to goofing off.

Lu and I are considering another short trip, maybe to Colorado to visit my favorite uncle. Though I filled up the Ford the other day and Ouch! Maybe not.

Angus is doing well. I'll have another post up about his rehab next week. I swear.

I hope this day finds you all relaxed, happy and in good company. The path we tread is fraught with peril. Find all the happy you can, grab it with both hands and hang on for dear life.
Six

The Glories

1925

IN FAITHS and Food and Books and Friends 
   Give every soul her choice.
For such as follow divers ends 
   In divers lights rejoice. 

There is a glory of the Sun 
   ('Pity it passeth soon!)
But those whose work is nearer done 
   Look, rather, towards the Moon. 

There is a glory of the Moon 
   When the hot hours have run;
But such as have not touched their noon 
   Give worship to the Sun.

There is a glory of the Stars, 
   Perfect on stilly ways;
But such as follow present wars 
   Pursue the Comet's blaze. 

There is a glory in all things; 
   But each must find his own, 
Sufficient for his reckonings, 
   Which is to him alone.

Sunday Kipling Memorial Day Edition

I know it's a few days early but I want to dedicate this Sunday Kipling to our brothers and sisters who gave their lives that this might remain the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. I love them, every single one. I will never forget their sacrifice, their courage and their families. We owe them so much. There is another fight coming, to these very shores. May we all not be found wanting and may we find our way into their august company with our heads held high in pride on that day.

And as always.
For Ken.

Six


Dedication from "Barrack-Room Ballads"

BEYOND the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled-
Farther than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled-
Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world.

They are purged of pride because they died; they know the worth of
their bays;
They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine and the Gods of the Elder Days-
It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth Our Father's praise.

‘Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael's outposts
are,
Or buffet a path through the Pit's red wrath when God goes out to war,
Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a red-maned star.

They take their mirth in the joy of the Earth-they dare not grieve for
her pain;
They know of toil and the end of toil; they know God's Law is plain;
So they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that Sin is vain.

And oft-times cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade,
And tells them tales of His daily toil, of Edens newly made;
And they rise to their feet as He passes by, gentlemen unafraid.

To these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust and Shame-
Gods for they knew the hearts of men, men for they stooped to Fame-
Borne on the breath that men call Death, my brother's spirit came.

He scarce had need to doff his pride or slough the dross of Earth -
E'en as he trod that day to God so walked he from his birth,
In simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth.

So cup to lip in fellowship they gave him welcome high
And made him place at the banquet board-the Strong Men ranged
thereby,
Who had done his work and held his peace and had no fear to die

Beyond the loom of the last lone star, through open darkness hurled,
Further than rebel comet dared or hiving star-swarm swirled,
Sits he with those that praise our God for that they served His world.

Sunday Kipling

It's a good day to be an American. Lu and I will laze about today, enjoying our freedoms and blessings. She's making a stromboli. Sarge and MIL are coming over later for dinner at Casa Six. The 49ers are 4 and 1. The Rangers clinched the ALCS last night. My daughter and grandchildren are only a month away from a visit. Angus awoke me this morning with a joyful kiss and an invitation to go outside and play.
I think I will.

The best of Sundays to you my friends and may your blessings flow like rain.

Six


The Portent
Horace, BK. V. Ode 20.
"The Prophet and the Country"
From "Debits and Credits" (1919-1923)

Oh, late withdrawn from human-kind
And following dreams we never knew!
Varus, what dream has Fate assigned
To trouble you?

Such virtue as commends of law
Of Virtue to the vulgar horde
Suffices not. You needs must draw
A righteous sword;

And, flagrant in well-doing, smite
The priests of Bacchus at their fane,
Lest any worshipper invite
The God again.

Whence public strife and naked crime
And-deadlier than the cup you shun--
A people schooled to mock, in time,
All law--not one.

Cease, then, to fashion State-made sin,
Nor give thy children cause to doubt
That Virtue springs from Iron within--
Not lead without.