The Floods, poetry by Rudyard Kipling

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Joseph Rudyard Kipling (December 30, 1865 – January 18, 1936) was an English poet, short-story writer and novelist. He was born in the Bombay Presidency of British India. He wrote tales and poems of British soldiers in India and stories for children.

Kipling's poems include "Mandalay" (1890), "Gunga Din" (1890), "The Gods of the Copybook Headings" (1919), and "If—" (1910). He is regarded as a major innovator in the art of the short story. The death of Kipling's son John has been linked to Kipling's 1916 poem, "My Boy Jack." In 1907, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. Kipling travelled throughout South Africa and told stories of these places through his poetry, such as the well known poem "Lichtenberg," which relates the story of a combatant and his journey towards death in a foreign land. His works of fiction include The Jungle Book (1894), Kim (1901), and many short stories, including "The Man Who Would Be King" (1888). As we celebrate National Poetry Month, enjoy this poem, The Floods, by Rudyard Kipling.

The Floods

By Rudyard Kipling

The rain it rains without a stay

In the hills above us, in the hills;

And presently the floods break way

Whose strength is in the hills.

The trees they suck from every cloud,

The valley brooks they roar aloud,

Bank-high for the lowlands, lowlands,

Lowlands under the hills!

The first wood down is sere and small,

From the hills--the brishings off the hills;

And then come by the bats and all

We cut last year in the hills;

And then the roots we tried to cleave

But found too tough and had to leave,

Polting down the lowlands, lowlands,

Lowlands under the hills!

The eye shall look, the ear shall hark

To the hills, the doings in the hills!

And rivers mating in the dark

With tokens from the hills.

Now what is weak will surely go,

And what is strong must prove it so,

Stand Fast in the lowlands, lowlands,

Lowlands under the hills!

The floods they shall not be afraid,

Nor the hills above 'em, nor the hills,

Of any fence which man has made

Betwixt him and the hills.

The waters shall not reckon twice

For any work of man's device,

But bid it down to the lowlands, lowlands,

Lowlands under the hills!

The floods shall sweep corruption clean,

By the hills, the blessing of the hills,

That more the meadows may be green

New-mended from the hills.

The crops and cattle shall increase,

Nor little children shall not cease.

Go plough the lowlands, lowlands,

Lowlands under the hills!