Analysis of Et Dona Ferentes
Rudyard Kipling 1865 (Mumbai) – 1936 (London)
In extended observation of the ways and works of man,
From the Four-mile Radius roughly to the Plains of Hindustan:
I have drunk with mixed assemblies, seen the racial ruction rise,
And the men of half Creation damning half Creation's eyes.
I have watched them in their tantrums, all that Pentecostal crew,
French, Italian, Arab, Spaniard, Dutch and Greek, and Russ and Jew,
Celt and savage, buff and ochre, cream and yellow, mauve and white,
But it never really mattered till the English grew polite;
Till the men with polished toppers, till the men in long frock-coats,
Till the men who do not duel, till the men who war with votes,
Till the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Lawrence took his grid,
Began to 'beg your pardon' and-the knowing croupier hid.
Then the bandsmen with their fiddles, and the girls that bring the beer,
Felt the psychological moment, left the lit Casino clear;
But the uninstructed alien, from the Teuton to the Gaul,
Was entrapped, once more, my country, by that suave, deceptive drawl.
As it was in ancient Suez or 'neath wilder, milder skies,
I 'observe with apprehension' how the racial ructions rise;
And with keener apprehension, if I read the times aright,
Hear the old Casino order: 'Watch your man, but be polite.
“Keep your temper. Never answer (that was why they spat and swore).
Don't hit first, but move together (there's no hurry) to the door.
Back to back, and facing outward while the linguist tells 'em how -
`Nous sommes allong ar notre batteau, nous ne voulong pas un row.''
So the hard, pent rage ate inward, till some idiot went too far...
'Let 'em have it!' and they had it, and the same was merry war -
Fist, umbrella, cane, decanter, lamp and beer-mug, chair and boot -
Till behind the fleeing legions rose the long, hoarse yell for loot.
Then the oil-cloth with its numbers, like a banner fluttered free;
Then the grand piano cantered, on three castors, down the quay;
White, and breathing through their nostrils, silent, systematic, swift -
They removed, effaced, abolished all that man could heave or lift.
Oh, my country, bless the training that from cot to castle runs -
The pitfall of the stranger but the bulwark of thy sons -
Measured speech and ordered action, sluggish soul and un - perturbed,
Till we wake our Island-Devil-nowise cool for being curbed!
When the heir of all the ages 'has the honour to remain,'
When he will not hear an insult, though men make it ne'er so plain,
When his lips are schooled to meekness, when his back is bowed to blows -
Well the keen aas-vogels know it-well the waiting jackal knows.
Build on the flanks of Etna where the sullen smoke-puffs float -
Or bathe in tropic waters where the lean fin dogs the boat -
Cock the gun that is not loaded, cook the frozen dynamite -
But oh, beware my Country, when my Country grows polite!
Scheme | AABB CCDD EEFF GGHH BBDD IIXX XIJJ KKLL MMNN OOPP QQDD |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Quatrain (82%) |
Metre | 00100101010111 101110010101110 11111010101011 0011101010111 11110110110101 101010101010101 101010101010101 111010101010101 101110101010111 101111101011111 101111101110111 0111110001011 10111100011101 100100101010101 101100101101 101111101110101 111010101110101 1011010101011 0110010111011 101010101111101 111010101111101 111110101110101 111010101010111 1111101111111 1011111011100111 111101110011101 1010111011101 101010101011111 101111101010101 1010101111101 10101110100101 10110101111111 111010101111101 0110101010111 101010101010101 111101010111101 10111010101101 111111011111111 11111111111111 101110111010101 11011101010111 11010101011101 10111110101010 11011101110101 |
Closest metre | Iambic octameter |
Characters | 2,815 |
Words | 508 |
Sentences | 16 |
Stanzas | 11 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 44 |
Letters per line (avg) | 50 |
Words per line (avg) | 11 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 199 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 46 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 28, 2023
- 2:32 min read
- 246 Views
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"Et Dona Ferentes" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 13 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/33202/et-dona-ferentes>.
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