Poem II
We have fed our sea for a thousand yearsAnd she calls us, still unfed,Though there's never a wave of all her wavesBut marks our English dead:We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest,To the shark and the sheering gull.If blood be the price of admiralty,Lord God, we ha' paid in full!
There's never a flood goes shoreward nowBut lifts a keel we manned;There's never an ebb goes seaward nowBut drops our dead on the sand --But slinks our dead on the sands forlore,From the Ducies to the Swin.If blood be the price of admiralty,If blood be the price of admiralty,Lord God, we ha' paid it in!
We must feed our sea for a thousand years,For that is our doom and pride,As it was when they sailed with the Golden Hind,Or the wreck that struck last tide --Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reefWhere the ghastly blue-lights flare.If blood be the price of admiralty,If blood be the price of admiralty,If blood be the price of admiralty,Lord God, we ha' bought it fair!
Words in this poem
- unrest n.
- Want of rest or repose; unquietness; sleeplessness; uneasiness; disquietude.
- admiralty n.
- The office or jurisdiction of an admiral. Prescott. [F. amirauté, for an older amiralté, office of admiral, fr. LL. admiralitas. See Admiral.]
- shoreward adv.
- Toward the shore.
- seaward a.
- Directed or situated toward the sea. Donne.
- flare v. i.
- To burn with an unsteady or waving flame; as, the candle flares. [Cf. Norw. flara to blaze, flame, adorn with tinsel, dial. Sw. flasa upp, and E. flash, or flacker.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Poem II is in the public domain. This text is taken from Verses 1889-1896, Project Gutenberg ebook #323; 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, Poem II, in Verses 1889–1896 (1889–1896), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #323, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/kipling-verses/poem-ii.html, id L16789.
Form and metre
Poem II is 27 lines in 3 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 72%). 93% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.3 syllables. 8 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 18% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
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-A---- years · unfedA · waves · deadA · unrest · gull · admiralty · full
- 2 ABAB-CDDC nowA · mannedB · nowA · sandB · forlore · swinC · admiraltyD · admiraltyD · inC
- 3 -A-A-BCCCB years · prideA · hind · tideA · reef · flareB · admiraltyC · admiraltyC · admiraltyC · fairB
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 pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| We have fed our sea for a thousand years | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| And she calls us, still unfed, | 7 | ······˘ |
| Though there's never a wave of all her waves | 9 | ··/······ |
| But marks our English dead: | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest, | 10 | ···/····˘/ |
| To the shark and the sheering gull. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| If blood be the price of admiralty, | 9 | ······/˘˘ |
| Lord God, we ha' paid in full! | 7 | ······· |
| There's never a flood goes shoreward now | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| But lifts a keel we manned; | 7 | ······˘ |
| There's never an ebb goes seaward now | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| But drops our dead on the sand -- | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| But slinks our dead on the sands forlore, | 9 | ··/····˘/ |
| From the Ducies to the Swin. | 6 | ······ |
| If blood be the price of admiralty, | 9 | ······/˘˘ |
| If blood be the price of admiralty, | 9 | ······/˘˘ |
| Lord God, we ha' paid it in! | 7 | ······· |
| We must feed our sea for a thousand years, | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| For that is our doom and pride, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| As it was when they sailed with the Golden Hind, | 11 | ········/˘· |
| Or the wreck that struck last tide -- | 7 | ······· |
| Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Where the ghastly blue-lights flare. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| If blood be the price of admiralty, | 9 | ······/˘˘ |
| If blood be the price of admiralty, | 9 | ······/˘˘ |
| If blood be the price of admiralty, | 9 | ······/˘˘ |
| Lord God, we ha' bought it fair! | 7 | ······· |
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