Analysis of Cholera Camp
Rudyard Kipling 1865 (Mumbai) – 1936 (London)
We've got the cholerer in camp -- it's worse than forty fights;
We're dyin' in the wilderness the same as Isrulites;
It's before us, an' be'ind us, an' we cannot get away,
An' the doctor's just reported we've ten more to-day!
Oh, strike your camp an' go, the Bugle's callin',
The Rains are fallin' --
The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below;
The Band's a-doin' all she knows to cheer us;
The Chaplain's gone and prayed to Gawd to 'ear us --
To 'ear us --
O Lord, for it's a-killin' of us so!
Since August, when it started, it's been stickin' to our tail,
Though they've 'ad us out by marches an' they've 'ad us back by rail;
But it runs as fast as troop-trains, and we cannot get away;
An' the sick-list to the Colonel makes ten more to-day.
There ain't no fun in women nor there ain't no bite to drink;
It's much too wet for shootin', we can only march and think;
An' at evenin', down the ~nullahs~, we can 'ear the jackals say,
"Get up, you rotten beggars, you've ten more to-day!"
'Twould make a monkey cough to see our way o' doin' things --
Lieutenants takin' companies an' captains takin' wings,
An' Lances actin' Sergeants -- eight file to obey --
For we've lots o' quick promotion on ten deaths a day!
Our Colonel's white an' twitterly -- 'e gets no sleep nor food,
But mucks about in 'orspital where nothing does no good.
'E sends us 'eaps o' comforts, all bought from 'is pay --
But there aren't much comfort 'andy on ten deaths a day.
Our Chaplain's got a banjo, an' a skinny mule 'e rides,
An' the stuff 'e says an' sings us, Lord, it makes us split our sides!
With 'is black coat-tails a-bobbin' to ~Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-ay!~
'E's the proper kind o' ~padre~ for ten deaths a day.
An' Father Victor 'elps 'im with our Roman Catholicks --
He knows an 'eap of Irish songs an' rummy conjurin' tricks;
An' the two they works together when it comes to play or pray;
So we keep the ball a-rollin' on ten deaths a day.
We've got the cholerer in camp -- we've got it 'ot an' sweet;
It ain't no Christmas dinner, but it's 'elped an' we must eat.
We've gone beyond the funkin', 'cause we've found it doesn't pay,
An' we're rockin' round the Districk on ten deaths a day!
Then strike your camp an' go, the Rains are fallin',
The Bugle's callin'!
The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below!
An' them that do not like it they can lump it,
An' them that cannot stand it they can jump it;
We've got to die somewhere -- some way -- some'ow --
We might as well begin to do it now!
Then, Number One, let down the tent-pole slow,
Knock out the pegs an' 'old the corners -- so!
Fold in the flies, furl up the ropes, an' stow!
Oh, strike -- oh, strike your camp an' go!
(Gawd 'elp us!)
Scheme | aabb ccDeeed ffbb ggbb hhbb xxbb iibb axbb jjbb ccDkkdcdddde |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 110101111101 11001000111 10111111110101 101011011111 111111011 01110 011111111101 0101111111 0110111111 111 1111010111 11011101111101 111111101111111 111111110110101 1011101011111 11110101111111 1111111110101 111101111011 111101011111 11010111101111 010110011011 11101011101 1111101011101 1010111111111 110101110111 111111011111 11101101011101 1011011010111 1011111111111101 111110101111111 101011111101 1101011110101 111111110111011 101110101111111 1110101011101 110101111111 11110101111111 1101010111101 11110111101 11111101110 011 011111111101 11111111111 11110111111 111111111 1111011111 1101110111 1101110101 1001110111 11111111 111 |
Closest metre | Iambic hexameter |
Characters | 2,774 |
Words | 524 |
Sentences | 21 |
Stanzas | 10 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 7, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 12 |
Lines Amount | 51 |
Letters per line (avg) | 38 |
Words per line (avg) | 10 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 194 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 52 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 26, 2023
- 2:47 min read
- 201 Views
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"Cholera Camp" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 20 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/33175/cholera-camp>.
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