Posts Tagged ‘Rudyard Kipling’


Batemans_2_4910077755-300x185It’s always interesting, at least to me, to wonder about places where authors lived; where they wrote their masterpieces that have become legends.  Book Riot shared a photo of Rudyard Kipling’s home on FB and I thought I’d love to muse about that. They featured four other classic authors but while I was very charmed by Charles Dickens’ former home in London (now a museum) I’m particularly dreaming of Rudyard Kipling’s house right now and If, one of my favorite poems.

These are rather good thoughts to ponder at the start of the new year.



If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs
and blaming it on you; If you trust yourself when all men doubt you,
but make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired of waiting or being lied about,
Don’t deal in lies, or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
and yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise

If you can dream and not make dreams your master,
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
and treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken,
twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
and stoop and build them up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
and risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
and lose and start again at your beginnings
and never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
to serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
except the Will which says to them: “hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
or walk with kings nor lose the common touch
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you but none too much
If you can feel the unforgiving minute
with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run
yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
and which is more you’ll be a Man, my son!

Text from Poetry Lovers’ Page


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