What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold.
What of the quarry ye went to kill?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still.
Where is the power that made your pride?
Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side.
Where is the haste that ye hurry by?
Brother, I go to my lair to die!
Tags Best Poems Best Poetry British Indian Poets British Poets Classic Poetry Indian Poets Poems Poetry Rudyard Kipling Rudyard Kipling Poems Rudyard Kipling Poetry