Blades
SOJOURNER, set down
Your skimming wheel;
Nothing is sharp
That we have of steel:
Nothing has edge:
Oh, whirl around
Your wheel of stone
Till our blades be ground!
Harshly, quickly, under blades
Hafted with horn and wood and bone
Went the wheel:
Narrow long knives that should be one edge,
House-knives that sliced the loaf to the heel,
And scraped scales off mackerel,
And weighty knives that were shaped like a wedge-
Stone wakened keenness m their steel:
Knives with which besom-makers pare
Their heather-stalks, and hawkers' blades
Used by men of a dozen trades;
Broad-bladed knives that cut bacon-sides,
And stumpy knives for cobblers' hides,
With hunters' knives that were thinned with wear:-
All were brought to,
All were laid on,
All were ground by
The Sojourner's wheel.
And those who filled the market-square
Saw hand and eye upon their ware
That were well schooled and scrupulous
To spend upon that task their use.
But sparks came from the eyes and met
The sparks that were from the edges whet
As eagerly and wittingly
The dullness of each blade scoured he,
And the brow he bent was like a stone.
Over the grinding-stone he sang,
'The dalesman's sword shall make you fear,
And the dirk in the grasp of the mountaineer,
likewise the pirate's blue cutlass
have left your blades long edgeless!'
the men were thinking of games of cards,
the looks of the boys were turned towards
corner where they played pitch and toss,
the women thought of the herring across
tongs to roast where pot-hooks hang,
ready and unforward men have no right to any lien
the gifts of Tubal Cain,
The gifts of our father, Tubal Cain!'
But no one drew meaning from the song
As he made an equal edge along
One side of the blade and the other one,
And polished the surface till it shone.
'Now leave a blessing on what you have done.'
'For what I have done I take my fee,
But no blessing I leave on it,' said he,
'Everybody knows,
Everybody knows
That the knife-grinder
No blessing bestows.'
Then the market-place, with wheel a-pack,
He left, and the men to their cards went back
And talked of a bird in the cocker's loft;
And of liming linnets beside the croft
The boys told between pitch and toss;
And the women laid the herring across
The tongs to roast for a sloven's meal.
And he went out beside the Peel
Tower, and through Saint Selskar's Gate,
Heading at a hearty rate
Towards the hilltops and the shades.
And three who brought back sharpened blades
To their fathers' stalls by the Tan-yard Side,
And then stayed while a blackbird cried
Quietly by their groundsills
The butcher's daughter,
The cobbler's daughter,
The hawker's daughter,
Were lost on the hills!
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Scissors-Grinder
The old man had his box and wheel
For grinding knives and shears.
No doubt his bell in village streets
Was joy to children's ears.
And I bethought me of my youth
When such men came around,
And times I asked them in, quite sure
The scissors should be ground.
The old man turned and spoke to me,
His face at last in view.
And then I thought those curious eyes
Were eyes that once I knew.
"The moon is but an emery-wheel
To whet the sword of God,"
He said. "And here beside my fire
I stretch upon the sod.
Each night, and dream, and watch the stars
And watch the ghost-clouds go.
And see that sword of God in Heaven
A-waving to and fro.
I see that sword each century, friend.
It means the world-war comes
With all its bloody, wicked chiefs
And hate-inflaming drums.
Men talk of peace, but I have seen
That emery-wheel turn round.
The voice of Abel cries again
To God from out the ground.
The ditches must flow red, the plague
Go stark and screaming by
Each time that sword of God takes edge
Within the midnight sky.
And those that scorned their brothers here
And sowed a wind of shame
Will reap the whirlwind as of old
And face relentless flame."
And thus the scissors-grinder spoke,
His face at last in view.
And there beside the railroad bridge
I saw the wandering Jew.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night Of The Long Knives
Whos your leader, whos your man?
Who will help you fill your hand?
Whos your friend and whos your foe?
Whos your judas, you dont know?
Night of the long knives
Wheres that saviour, wheres that light
When youre praying for your life?
Whos that fighting back to back?
Whos defending whose attack?
Night of the long knives
(stick em in the back woods)
Night of the long knives
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Wolf Knife
In the mid August, in the second year
of my First Polar Expedition, the snow and ice of winter
almost upon us, Kantiuk and I
attempted to dash the sledge
along Crispin Bay, searching again for relics
of the Frankline Expedition. Now a storm blew,
and we turned back, and we struggled slowly
in snow, lest we depart land and venture onto ice
from which a sudden fog and thaw
would abandon us to the Providence
of the sea.
Near nightfall I thought I heard snarling behind us.
Kantiuk told me that two wolves, lean as the bones of a wrecked ship,
had followed us the last hour, and snapped their teeth
as if already feasting.
I carried the one cartridge only
in my riffle, since, approaching the second winter,
we rationed stores.
As it turned dark,
we could push no further, and made
camp in a corner of ice hummocks,
and the wolves stopped also, growling
just past the limits of vision,
coming closer, until I could hear
the click of their feet on ice. Kantiuk laughed
and remarked that the wolves appeared to be most hungry.
I raised my rifle, prepared to shoot the first that
ventured close, hoping
to frighten the other.
Kantiuk struck my rifle down and said again
that the wolves were hungry, and laughed.
I feared that my old companion
was mad, here in the storm, among ice-hummocks,
stalked by wolves. Now Kantiuk searched
in his pack, and extracted
two knives--turnoks, the Innuits called them--
which by great labor were sharpened, on both sides,
to the sharpness like the edge of a barber's razor,
and approached our dogs
and plunged both knives
into the body of our youngest dog
who had limped all day.
I remember that I consider turning my rifle on Kantiuk
as he approached, then passed me,
carrying knives red with the gore of our dog--
who had yowled, moaned, and now lay
expired, surrounded
by curious cousins and uncles, possibly
hungry--and he trusted the knives
handle-down in the snow.
Immediately after he left the knives, the vague, gray
shape of wolves
turned solid, out of the darkness and the snow, and set ravenously
to licking blood from the honed steel.
the double-edge of the knives
so lacerated the tongues of the starved beasts
that their own blood poured
copiously forth
to replenish the dog's blood, and they ate
more furiously than before, while Knatiuk laughed,
and held his sides
laughing.
And I laughed also, perhaps in relief that Providence had delivered us
yet again, or perhaps--under conditions of extremity--
far from Connecticut--finding there creatures
acutely ridiculous, so avid
to swallow their own blood. First one, and then the other
collapsed, dying,
bloodless in the snow black with their own blood,
and Kantiuk retrieved
his turnoks, and hacked lean meat
from the thigh of the larger wolf, which we ate
grateful, blessing the Creator, for we were hungry.
poem by Donald Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Knife
THE plough that marks on Harley's field
In flying earth its print
Throws up, like death itself concealed,
A fang of rosy flint,
A flake of stone, by fingers hewed
Whose buried bones are gone,
All gone, with fingers, hunters, food,
But still the knife lives on.
And well I know, when bones are nought,
The blade of stone survives—
I, too, from clods of aching thought,
Have turned up sharper knives.
poem by Kenneth Slessor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sparkles From The Wheel
WHERE the city's ceaseless crowd moves on, the live-long day,
Withdrawn, I join a group of children watching--I pause aside with
them.
By the curb, toward the edge of the flagging,
A knife-grinder works at his wheel, sharpening a great knife;
Bending over, he carefully holds it to the stone--by foot and knee,
With measur'd tread, he turns rapidly--As he presses with light but
firm hand,
Forth issue, then, in copious golden jets,
Sparkles from the wheel.
The scene, and all its belongings--how they seize and affect me!
The sad, sharp-chinn'd old man, with worn clothes, and broad
shoulder-band of leather; 10
Myself, effusing and fluid--a phantom curiously floating--now here
absorb'd and arrested;
The group, (an unminded point, set in a vast surrounding;)
The attentive, quiet children--the loud, proud, restive base of the
streets;
The low, hoarse purr of the whirling stone--the light-press'd blade,
Diffusing, dropping, sideways-darting, in tiny showers of gold,
Sparkles from the wheel.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Knives Out
I want you to know
Hes not coming back
Look into my eyes
Im not coming back
So knives out
Catch the mouse
Dont look down
Shove it in your mouth
If youd been a dog
They wouldve drowned you at birth
Look into my eyes
Its the only way youll know Im telling the truth
So knives out
Cook him up
Squash his head
Put him in the pot
I want you to know
Hes not coming back
Hes bloated and frozen
Still theres no point in letting it go to waste
So knives out
Catch the mouse
Squash his head
Put him in the pot
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Friend of Humanity, and the Knife-Grinder
FRIEND OF HUMANITY.
"Needy Knife-grinder! whether are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order--
Bleak blows the Blast;--your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!
"Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
-road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, 'Knives and
'Scissars to grind O!'
"Tell me Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire? or parson of the parish;
Or the attorney?
"Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?
"(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story."
KNIFE-GRINDER.
"Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, Sir,
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.
"Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-
stocks for a vagrant.
"I should be glad to drink your Honor's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle
With Politics, Sir."
FRIEND OF HUMANITY.
"I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damn'd first--
Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance--
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Spiritless outcast!"
Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.
poem by John Hookham Frere
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm A Wheel
Oh, hold on
You risk exciting me
Once in Germany someone said nein
1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9
Oh, hold back
Oh, don't invite me
1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9
Once in Germany someone said nein
I'm a wheel
I will
Turn on you
Oh, I invented a sister
Populated with knives
Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh
Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh
I'm a wheel
I will
Turn on you
Um...
I'm a wheel
I will
I'm a wheel
I will
I'm a wheel
I will
Turn on you
I'm gonna turn on you, turn on you
Turn on you, turn on you, turn on you
I'm gonna turn on you, turn on you
Turn on you, turn on you, turn on you
I'm gonna turn on you, turn on you, turn on you
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-grinder
Friend of Humanity
1'Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
2Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order-
3Bleak blows the blast;-your hat has got a hole in't,
4 So have your breeches!
5'Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
6Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike{\-}
7-road, what hard work 'tis crying all day 'knives and
8 'scissors to grind O!'
9'Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
10Did some rich man tyranically use you?
11Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
12 Or the attorney?
13'Was it the squire, for the killing of his game? or
14Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
15Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
16 All in a lawsuit?
17'(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)
18Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
19Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
20 Pitiful story.'
Knife-grinder
21'Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
22Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
23This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
24 Torn in a scuffle.
25'Constables came up for to take me into
26Custody; they took me before the justice;
27Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish{\-}
28 Stocks for a vagrant.
29'I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in
30A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
31But for my part, I never love to meddle
32 With politics, sir.'
Friend of Humanity
33'I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damn'd first-
34Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance-
35Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
36 Spiritless outcast!'
[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.
poem by George Canning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sun And Steel
You killed your first man at 13
Killer instinct, Animal supreme
By 16 you had learned to fight
The way of the warrior, you took it as your right
Sunlight, falling on your steel
Death in life is your ideal
Life is like a wheel
Sunlight, falling on your steel
Death in life is your ideal
Life is like a wheel
Through earth and water, fire and wind
You came at last - nothing was the end
Make a cut by fire and stone
Take you and your blade and break you both in two
Break you both in two
Sunlight, falling on your steel
Death in life is your ideal
Life is like a wheel
Sunlight, falling on your steel
Death in life is your ideal
Life is like a wheel - rolling on and on
Sunlight, falling on your steel
Death in life is your ideal
Life is like a wheel
Sunlight, falling on your steel
Death in life is your ideal
Life is like a wheel
Sunlight, falling on your steel
Death in life is your ideal
Life is like a wheel
Sunlight, falling on your steel
Death in life is your ideal
Life is like a wheel - and it's rolling still
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Enoughs Enough
So early in the morning
Its the same now every day
Sign your name and number
Cutting from the ball and chain
Never letting go when
The weight was so deceiving
Treading on a turning wheel
Machinery is screaming
Shoulder to the stone again
Praying for the evening
Hiding as the fist hits steel
Chorus:
Enoughs enough
Its eye to eye
Enoughs enough
We cry
Enoughs enough
Of smoke and steel
Enoughs enough
Of turning this wheel
Looking at his picture
Steel did turn the skin to bone
Father I remember
The hands that had to break the stone
Chorus
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Stereotomy
Lead vocal - john miles
Diamond eyes
That burn me and turn me to stone
Crystalise
And freeze me in clear monochrome
Turn me to stone; do anything you want with me
Turn me to stone; do anything you want
Stereotomy
We can make it together
Do anything you want with me
Do anything you want
Scarlet minds
Possess me and I feel no shame
Silent knives
Dissect me and I feel no pain
Stereotomy
We can make it together
Do anything you want with me
Do anything you want
Stereotomy
We can make it forever
Do anything you want with me
Do anything you want
Starlight beams
Project me in red blue and green
Velvet dreams
Protect me when I hit the screen
Stereotomy
We can make it together
Do anything you want with me, do anything you want
Stereotomy
We can make it forever
Its always the same, its always the same
Stereotomy, we can make it
We can make it, do anything you want
Turn me to stone
Do anything you want with me
Cover my eyes
Theres nothing more they need to see
Turn me to stone
Before theres nothing left of me
Make me a rock
And not what I appear to be
Turn me to stone
Turn me to stone
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Old Town Types No 20 - Mr Blades the Butcher
Mr Blades, the butcher, was a large and beefy man,
'Best him at a cattle deal,' 'twas said, 'no other can.'
He ate a lot and drank a lot and had a lot to say,
And he jollied all the ladies in his large and airy way.
His family was numerous, and helped him in 'the trade,'
And townsfolk had a deal to say of money what they made.
But Mr Blades just went his way, and had his bit of fun;
And joked about his appetite, his girth, or else his 'run.'
His 'run' - a stretch of scrubland at the back of Connor's place -
Was a joke about the district; for it did not bear a trace
Of building or improvement. Yet some said Mr Blades
Had ambitions as a squatter, and a secret scorn for 'trades' . . .
Then the cattle duffers started in the district. Connors raved,
But folk said it was wonderful how Mr Blades behaved.
Tho' he lost a hundred stores one night. But soon began the rows
When people in the town began to lose domestic cows.
Police surprised the gang one night out in the mulga shades,
And took the lot, red-handed, with their leader - Mr Blades.
Of course, the trial stirred our town, as nothing's stirred it since;
But when bad Blades got 'three years hard,' he did not even wince.
His family still strove to carry on the butcher's shop,
For folk refused to pay them, and demanded with some heat:
'Think you can charge for selling us our milkers back as meat?'
When Mr Blades came out of goal, he did not seem ashamed;
A little thinner now, perhaps, but not the least bit tamed.
He told the folk he'd paid his debts, and so, by gum, should they.
So he summoned all his debtors, and his debtors had to pay.
'For our own thieved and slaughtered cows!' wailed these bewildered folk.
But Mr Blades, the butcher, had his last and richest joke,
And, on the day he left the town, people who saw him said
He looked the picture of content - so beefy, large, and red.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freezing Steel
Freezing steel
Ive flown the house of freezing, the house of freezing steel
And though my bodys back I know it cant be real
cause Ive been on that house without a guiding wheel
The house of freezing steel
Oh wheres it going, picked me up at seven
When my eyes were weak from the light of the morning
Oh sister wont you tell me what a man might want to know
This madness is fine, yes if youre mad at the time
Back on the house of freezing, the house of freezing steel
The tied my body up, Im forced to eat my meal
A cold plate of lamb and cold potatoes too
Now whats a soul to do
Oh lord above, brother wont you tell me
Is this a eucharistic dove
cause Ive been waiting for the right one to appear
But Ive seen it in your face, and baby this aint the place
Up on the house of freezing, the house of freezing steel.
I made my mind up then to get me to the wheel
I made the cabin door, the pilot turned around
He said were venus bound
Oh please take me home
After all Im only human and the earth is where I belong
I must have looked pitiful to this freak without a face
cause as he touched my head I saw myself back in bed
Ive flown the house of freezing, the house of freezing steel
And though my bodys back I know it cant be real
cause Ive been on that house without a guiding wheel
The house of freezing steel
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Don't Carry Knives
Stab me without warning
As your phone clicks away
Lying in a pool of blood
Boast to your friends today
All your brave talkin’ ‘bout stabbing, jabbing,
nabbing and grabbing, won’t make it all go away
Your mates are talkin’ ‘bout deceiving, leaving,
thieving and grieving, it’s not just another day
Why can’t you see your mother’s crying, a son’s dying.
someone’s lying, about the knives they’re buying
All you need to do is throw your knives away.
All of your boasting will get you is trouble and strife, if you carry a knife,
he had 2 kids & a wife, now you’re the one doing life
For the sake of mothers and wives
Please don’t carry anymore knives from today
All you are doing is turning this into a police state
Will your mother wait, at the prison gate, to find out her sons fate?
If you want a bit better life
You better not carry a knife
Can’t you feel the burning
Is this your destiny
Doing life in prison’s
Not as good as they say
poem by Gordon David
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Magnet and the Churn
A MAGNET hung in a hardware shop,
And all around was a loving crop
Of scissors and needles, nails and knives,
Offering love for all their lives;
But for iron the Magnet felt no whim,
Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him,
From needles and nails and knives he'd turn,
For he'd set his love on a Silver Churn!
His most aesthetic,
Very magnetic
Fancy took this turn -
"If I can wheedle
A knife or needle,
Why not a Silver Churn?"
And Iron and Steel expressed surprise,
The needles opened their well-drilled eyes,
The pen-knives felt "shut up," no doubt,
The scissors declared themselves "cut out,"
The kettles they boiled with rage, 'tis said,
While every nail went off its head,
And hither and thither began to roam,
Till a hammer came up - and drove it home,
While this magnetic
Peripatetic
Lover he lived to learn,
By no endeavour,
Can Magnet ever
Attract a Silver Churn!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kind Knives
Sweet and nice
Can be like knives
But not your personality
for it is like a butterfly
Landing gently
Traveling swiftly
Cutting through the air
With those beautiful wings
For thats why your personality
Is not like knives but like a butterfly
poem by Jonathan Kjaer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Swords & Knives
A waking world of innocence
So grave those first born cries
When life begins with needles and pins
It ends with swords and knives
Oh dangerman, oh dangerman
Your blade fits like a glove
When forged in steel
Time cannot heal
That blood red bond of love
In times of trouble youre an open book
With the change in the way you look
And its sad loves not enough to make things better
Turn the tables, well burn the fables
Lies beneath the visions and daydreams
Fooled by now, we mystify the past
Like a dream, like it never happened
When life begins with needles and pins
It ends with swords and knives
God save those born to die
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballad of Minepit Shaw
About the time that taverns shut
And men can buy no beer,
Two lads went up to the keepers' hut
To steal Lord Pelham's deer.
Night and the liquor was in their heads--
They laughed and talked no bounds,
Till they waked the keepers on their beds
And the keepers loosed the hounds.
They had killed a hart, they had killed a hind,
Ready to carry away,
When they heard a whimper down the wind
And they heard a bloodhound bay.
They took and ran across the fern,
Their crossbows in their hand,
Till they met a man with a green lantern
That called and bade 'em stand.
"What are ye doing, O Flesh and Blood,
And what's your foolish will,
That you must break into Minepit Wood
And wake the Folk of the Hill?"
"Oh, we've broke into Lord Pelham's park,
And killed Lord Pelham's deer,
And if ever you heard a little dog bark
You'll know why we come here.
"We ask you let us go our way,
As fast as we can flee,
For if ever you heard a bloodhound bay
You'll know how pressed we be."
"Oh, lay your crossbows on the bank
And drop the knives from your hand,
And though the hounds be at your flank
I'll save you where you stand!"
They laid their crossbows on the bank,
They threw their knives in the wood,
And the ground before them opened and sank
And saved 'em where they stood.
"Oh, what's the roaring in our ears
That strikes us well-nigh dumb?"
"Oh, that is just how things appears
According as they come."
"What are the stars before our eyes
That strike us well-nigh blind?"
"Oh, that is just how things arise
According as you find."
"And why's our bed so hard to the bones
Excepting where it's cold?"
"Oh, that's because it is precious stones
Excepting where 'tis gold.
"Think it over as you stand,
For I tell you without fail,
If you haven't got into Fairyland
You're not in Lewes Gaol."
All night long they thought of it,
And, come the dawn, they saw
They'd tumbled into a great old pit,
At the bottom of Minepit Shaw.
And the keeper's hound had followed 'em close,
And broke her neck in the fall;
So they picked up their knives and their crossbows
And buried the dog. That's all.
But whether the man was a poacher too
Or a Pharisee' so bold--
I reckon there's more things told than are true.
And more things true than are told!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jubal and Tubal Cain
Canadian
Jubal sang of the Wrath of God
And the curse of thistle and thorn--
But Tubal got him a pointed rod,
And scrabbled the earth for corn.
Old--old as that early mould,
Young as the sprouting grain--
Yearly green is the strife between
Jubal and Tubal Cain!
Jubal sang of the new-found sea,
And the love that its waves divide--
But Tubal hollowed a fallen tree
And passed to the further side.
Black-black as the hurricane-wrack,
Salt as the under-main-
Bitter and cold is the hate they hold--
Jubal and Tubal Cain!
Jubal sang of the golden years
Uhen wars and wounds shall cease--
But Tubal fashioned the hand-flung spears
And showed his neighbours peace
New--new as Nine-point-Two
Older than Lamech's slain--
Roaring and loud is the feud avowed
Twix'' Jubal and Tubal Cain!
Jubal sang of the cliffs that bar
And the peaks that none may crown--
But Tubal clambered by jut and scar
And there he builded a town.
High-high as the snowsheds lie,
Low as the culverts drain--
Wherever they be they can never agree--
Jubal and Tubal Cain!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!