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Best Famous Derrick Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Derrick poems. This is a select list of the best famous Derrick poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Derrick poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of derrick poems.

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Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Dedication

 To the City of Bombay


The Cities are full of pride,
 Challenging each to each --
This from her mountain-side,
 That from her burthened beach.

They count their ships full tale --
 Their corn and oil and wine,
Derrick and loom and bale,
 And rampart's gun-flecked line;
City by City they hail:
 "Hast aught to match with mine?"

And the men that breed from them
 They traffic up and down,
But cling to their cities' hem
 As a child to their mother's gown.

When they talk with the stranger bands,
 Dazed and newly alone;
When they walk in the stranger lands,
 By roaring streets unknown;
Blessing her where she stands
 For strength above their own.

(On high to hold her fame
 That stands all fame beyond,
By oath to back the same,
 Most faithful-foolish-fond;
Making her mere-breathed name
 Their bond upon their bond.)

So thank I God my birth
 Fell not in isles aside --
Waste headlands of the earth,
 Or warring tribes untried --
But that she lent me worth
 And gave me right to pride.

Surely in toil or fray
 Under an alien sky,
Comfort it is to say:
 "Of no mean city am I!"

(Neither by service nor fee
 Come I to mine estate --
Mother of Cities to me,
 For I was born in her gate,
Between the palms and the sea,
 Where the world-end steamers wait.)

Now for this debt I owe,
 And for her far-borne cheer
Must I make haste and go
 With tribute to her pier.

And she shall touch and remit
 After the use of kings
(Orderly, ancient, fit)
 My deep-sea plunderings,
And purchase in all lands.
 And this we do for a sign
Her power is over mine,
 And mine I hold at her hands!


Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Dedication

 To the City of Bombay


The Cities are full of pride,
 Challenging each to each --
This from her mountain-side,
 That from her burthened beach.

They count their ships full tale --
 Their corn and oil and wine,
Derrick and loom and bale,
 And rampart's gun-flecked line;
City by City they hail:
 "Hast aught to match with mine?"

And the men that breed from them
 They traffic up and down,
But cling to their cities' hem
 As a child to their mother's gown.

When they talk with the stranger bands,
 Dazed and newly alone;
When they walk in the stranger lands,
 By roaring streets unknown;
Blessing her where she stands
 For strength above their own.

(On high to hold her fame
 That stands all fame beyond,
By oath to back the same,
 Most faithful-foolish-fond;
Making her mere-breathed name
 Their bond upon their bond.)

So thank I God my birth
 Fell not in isles aside --
Waste headlands of the earth,
 Or warring tribes untried --
But that she lent me worth
 And gave me right to pride.

Surely in toil or fray
 Under an alien sky,
Comfort it is to say:
 "Of no mean city am I!"

(Neither by service nor fee
 Come I to mine estate --
Mother of Cities to me,
 For I was born in her gate,
Between the palms and the sea,
 Where the world-end steamers wait.)

Now for this debt I owe,
 And for her far-borne cheer
Must I make haste and go
 With tribute to her pier.

And she shall touch and remit
 After the use of kings
(Orderly, ancient, fit)
 My deep-sea plunderings,
And purchase in all lands.
 And this we do for a sign
Her power is over mine,
 And mine I hold at her hands!
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

The Conundrum of the Workshops

 When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

Wherefore he called to his wife, and fled to fashion his work anew --
The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, most dread review;
And he left his lore to the use of his sons -- and that was a glorious gain
When the Devil chuckled "Is it Art?" in the ear of the branded Cain.

They fought and they talked in the North and the South, they talked and they fought in the West,
Till the waters rose on the pitiful land, and the poor Red Clay had rest --
Had rest till that dank blank-canvas dawn when the dove was preened to start,
And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, but is it Art?"

They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart,
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: "It's striking, but is it Art?"
The stone was dropped at the quarry-side and the idle derrick swung,
While each man talked of the aims of Art, and each in an alien tongue.

The tale is as old as the Eden Tree -- and new as the new-cut tooth --
For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is master of Art and Truth;
And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dying heart,
The Devil drum on the darkened pane: "You did it, but was it Art?"

We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the shape of a surplice-peg,
We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yelk of an addled egg,
We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart;
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: "It's clever, but is it Art?"

When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the Club-room's green and gold,
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mould --
They scratch with their pens in the mould of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start,
For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the Four Great Rivers flow,
And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left it long ago,
And if we could come when the sentry slept and softly scurry through,
By the favour of God we might know as much -- as our father Adam knew!

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry