The Broken Men
For things we never mention,For Art misunderstood--For excellent intentionThat did not turn to good;From ancient tales’ renewing,From clouds we would not clear--Beyond the Law’s pursuingWe fled, and settled here.
We took no tearful leaving,We bade no long good-byes;Men talked of crime and thieving,Men wrote of fraud and lies.To save our injured feelings’Twas time and time to go--Behind was dock and Dartmoor,Ahead lay Callao!
The widow and the orphanThat pray for ten per cent.,They clapped their trailers on usTo spy the road we went.They watched the foreign sailings(They scan the shipping still),And that’s your Christian peopleReturning good for ill!
God bless the thoughtful islandsWhere never warrants come!God bless the just RepublicsThat give a man a home,That ask no foolish questions,But set him on his feet;And save his wife and daughtersFrom the workhouse and the street!
On church and square and marketThe noonday silence falls;You’ll hear the drowsy mutterOf the fountain in our halls.Asleep amid the yuccasThe city takes her ease--Till twilight brings the land-windTo our clicking jalousies.
Day long the diamond weather,The high, unaltered blue--The smell of goats and incenseAnd the mule-bells tinkling through.Day long the warder oceanThat keeps us from our kin,And once a month our leveeWhen the English mail comes in.
You’ll find us up and waitingTo treat you at the bar;You’ll find us less exclusiveThan the average English are.We’ll meet you with our carriage,Too glad to show you round,But--we do not lunch on steamers,For they are English ground.
We sail o’ nights to EnglandAnd join our smiling Boards;Our wives go in with ViscountsAnd our daughters dance with Lords.But behind our princely doings,And behind each coup we make,We feel there’s Something Waiting,And--we meet It when we wake.
Ah God! One sniff of England--To greet our flesh and blood--To hear the hansoms slurringOnce more through London mud!Our towns of wasted honour--Our streets of lost delight!How stands the old Lord Warden?Are Dover’s cliffs still white?
Words in this poem
- tearful a.
- Abounding with tears; weeping; shedding tears; as, tearful eyes.
- bade
- A form of the pat tense of Bid.
- wrote v. i.
- To root with the snout. See 1st Root. [OE. wroten. See 1st Root.]
- ahead adv.
- In or to the front; in advance; onward. [Pref. a- + head.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- scan v. t.
- To mount by steps; to go through with step by step. [L. scandere, scansum, to climb, to scan, akin to Skr. skand to spring, leap: cf. F. scander. Cf. Ascend, Descend, Scale a ladder.]
- workhouse n.
- A house where any manufacture is carried on; a workshop. [AS. weorch.]
- noonday n.
- Midday; twelve o'clock in the day; noon.
- amid prep.
- In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
- warder n.
- One who wards or keeps; a keeper; a guard.
- levee n.
- The act of rising. [F. lever, fr. lever to raise, se lever to rise. See Lever, n.]
- lunch n.
- A luncheon; specifically, a light repast between breakfast and dinner. [Of uncertain etymol. Cf. Prov. Eng. nunc a lump.]
- honour n.
- Esteem due or paid to worth; high estimation; respect; consideration; reverence; veneration; manifestation of respect or reverence. [OE. honor, honour, onour, onur, OF. honor, onor, honur, onur, honour, onour, F. honneur, fr. L. honor, honos.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Broken Men is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Five Nations, Volume I, Project Gutenberg ebook #60260; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Rudyard Kipling, The Broken Men, in The Five Nations, Volume I (1903), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #60260, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/kipling-five-nations-1/the-broken-men.html, id L20231.
Form and metre
The Broken Men is 72 lines in 9 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-ABCBC mention · misunderstoodA · intention · goodA · renewingB · clearC · pursuingB · hereC
- 2 ABAB---- leavingA · byesB · thievingA · liesB · feelings · go · dartmoor · callao
- 3 -A-A-BBB orphan · centA · us · wentA · sailings · stillB · peopleB · illB
- 4 -A-A-B-B islands · comeA · republics · homeA · questions · feetB · daughters · streetB
- 5 -A-ABB-- market · fallsA · mutter · hallsA · yuccasB · easeB · wind · jalousies
- 6 -A-ABB-B weather · blueA · incense · throughA · oceanB · kinB · levee · inB
- 7 -A-A-B-B waiting · barA · exclusive · areA · carriage · roundB · steamers · groundB
- 8 -A-A-B-B england · boardsA · viscounts · lordsA · doings · makeB · waiting · wakeB
- 9 -A-A-B-B england · bloodA · slurring · mudA · honour · delightB · warden · whiteB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| For things we never mention, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| For Art misunderstood-- | 6 | ···˘˘/ |
| For excellent intention | 7 | ·/˘˘˘/˘ |
| That did not turn to good; | 6 | ······ |
| From ancient tales’ renewing, | 7 | ·/˘·˘/˘ |
| From clouds we would not clear-- | 6 | ······ |
| Beyond the Law’s pursuing | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| We fled, and settled here. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| We took no tearful leaving, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| We bade no long good-byes; | 6 | ······ |
| Men talked of crime and thieving, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Men wrote of fraud and lies. | 6 | ······ |
| To save our injured feelings | 7 | ··//˘/˘ |
| ’Twas time and time to go-- | 6 | ······ |
| Behind was dock and Dartmoor, | 7 | ······· |
| Ahead lay Callao! | 5 | ˘/··· |
| The widow and the orphan | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| That pray for ten per cent., | 6 | ······ |
| They clapped their trailers on us | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| To spy the road we went. | 6 | ······ |
| They watched the foreign sailings | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| (They scan the shipping still), | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And that’s your Christian people | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Returning good for ill! | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| God bless the thoughtful islands | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Where never warrants come! | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| God bless the just Republics | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| That give a man a home, | 6 | ······ |
| That ask no foolish questions, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| But set him on his feet; | 6 | ······ |
| And save his wife and daughters | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| From the workhouse and the street! | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| On church and square and market | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| The noonday silence falls; | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| You’ll hear the drowsy mutter | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Of the fountain in our halls. | 7 | ··/˘·/· |
| Asleep amid the yuccas | 7 | ˘/˘/·/˘ |
| The city takes her ease-- | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Till twilight brings the land-wind | 7 | ·/····· |
| To our clicking jalousies. | 6 | ·//˘·· |
| Day long the diamond weather, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| The high, unaltered blue-- | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| The smell of goats and incense | 7 | ·····˘/ |
| And the mule-bells tinkling through. | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Day long the warder ocean | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| That keeps us from our kin, | 6 | ····/· |
| And once a month our levee | 7 | ····//˘ |
| When the English mail comes in. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| You’ll find us up and waiting | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| To treat you at the bar; | 6 | ······ |
| You’ll find us less exclusive | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| Than the average English are. | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| We’ll meet you with our carriage, | 7 | ····//˘ |
| Too glad to show you round, | 6 | ······ |
| But--we do not lunch on steamers, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| For they are English ground. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| We sail o’ nights to England | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And join our smiling Boards; | 6 | ··//˘· |
| Our wives go in with Viscounts | 7 | /····/˘ |
| And our daughters dance with Lords. | 7 | ·//˘··· |
| But behind our princely doings, | 8 | ···//˘/˘ |
| And behind each coup we make, | 7 | ······· |
| We feel there’s Something Waiting, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| And--we meet It when we wake. | 7 | ······· |
| Ah God! One sniff of England-- | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| To greet our flesh and blood-- | 6 | ··/··· |
| To hear the hansoms slurring | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Once more through London mud! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Our towns of wasted honour-- | 7 | /··/˘/˘ |
| Our streets of lost delight! | 6 | /···˘/ |
| How stands the old Lord Warden? | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Are Dover’s cliffs still white? | 6 | ·/˘··· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.