Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling
I
FROST upon small rain—the ebony-lacquered avenue
Reflecting lamps as a pool shows goldfish.
The sight suddenly emptied out of the young man’s eyes
Entering upon it sideways.
II
In youth, by hazard, I killed an old man.
In age I maimed a little child.
Dead leaves under foot reproach not:
But the lop-sided cherry-branch—whenever the sun rises,
How black a shadow!