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Best Famous Shere Poems

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

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Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Mowglis Song

 The Song of Mowgli -- I, Mowgli, am singing.
Let the jungle listen to the things I have done.
Shere Khan said he would kill -- would kill! At the gates in the twilight he would kill Mowgli, the Frog! He ate and he drank.
Drink deep, Shere Khan, for when wilt thou drink again? Sleep and dream of the kill.
I am alone on the grazing-grounds.
Gray Brother, come to me! Come to me, Lone Wolf, for there is big game afoot.
Bring up the great bull-buffaloes, the blue-skinned herd-bulls with the angry eyes.
Drive them to and fro as I order.
Sleepest thou still, Shere Khan? Wake, O wake! Here come I, and the bulls are behind.
Rama, the King of the Buffaloes, stamped with his foot.
Waters of the Waingunga, whither went Shere Khan? He is not Ikki to dig holes, nor Mao, the Peacock, that he should fly.
He is not Mang, the Bat, to hang in the branches.
Little bamboos that creak to- gether, tell me where he ran? Ow! He is there.
Ahoo! He is there.
Under the feet of Rama lies the Lame One! Up, Shere Khan! Up and kill! Here is meat; break the necks of the bulls! Hsh! He is asleep.
We will not wake him, for his strength is very great.
The kites have come down to see it.
The black ants have come up to know it.
There is a great assembly in his honour.
Alala! I have no cloth to wrap me.
The kites will see that I am naked.
I am ashamed to meet all these people.
Lend me thy coat, Shere Khan.
Lend me thy gay striped coat that I may go to the Council Rock.
By the Bull that bought me I have made a promise -- a little promise.
Only thy coat is lacking before I keep my word.
With the knife -- with the knife that men use -- with the knife of the hunter, the man, I will stoop down for my gift.
Waters of the Waingunga, bear witness that Shere Khan gives me his coat for the love that he bears me.
Pull, Gray Brother! Pull, Akela! Heavy is the hide of Shere Khan.
The Man Pack are angry.
They throw stones and talk child's talk.
My mouth is bleeding.
Let us run away.
Through the night, through the hot night, run swiftly with me, my brothers.
We will leave the lights of the village and go to the low moon.
Waters of the Waingunga, the Man Pack have cast me out.
I did them no harm, but they were afraid of me.
Why? Wolf Pack, ye have cast me out too.
The jungle is shut to me and the village gates are shut.
Why? As Mang flies between the beasts and the birds so fly I between the village and the jungle.
Why? I dance on the hide of Shere Khan, but my heart is very heavy.
My mouth is cut and wounded with the stones from the village, but my heart is very light because I have come back to the jungle.
Why? These two things fight together in me as the snakes fight in the spring.
The water comes out of my eyes; yet I laugh while it falls.
Why? I am two Mowglis, but the hide of Shere Khan is under my feet.
All the jungle knows that I have killed Shere Khan.
Look -- look well, O Wolves! Ahae! My heart is heavy with the things that I do not understand.
Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow; Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease! The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.


Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Outsong in the Jungle

 For the sake of him who showed
One wise Frog the Jungle-Road,
Keep the Law the Man-Pack make
For thy blind old Baloo's sake!
Clean or tainted, hot or stale,
Hold it as it were the Trail,
Through the day and through the night,
Questing neither left nor right.
For the sake of him who loves Thee beyond all else that moves, When thy Pack would make thee pain, Say: " Tabaqui sings again.
" When thy Pack would work thee ill, Say: "Shere Khan is yet to kill.
" When the knife is drawn to slay, Keep the Law and go thy way.
(Root and honey, palm and spathe, Guard a cub from harm and scathe!) Wood and Water, Wind and Tree, Jungle-Favour go with thee! Kaa Anger is the egg of Fear-- Only lidless eyes see clear.
Cobra-poison none may leech-- Even so with Cobra-speech.
Open talk shall call to thee Strength, whose mate is Courtesy.
Send no lunge beyond thy length.
Lend no rotten bough thy strength.
Gauge thy gape with buck or goat, Lest thine eye should choke thy throat.
After gorging, wouldst thou sleep ? Look thy den be hid and deep, Lest a wrong, by thee forgot, Draw thy killer to the spot.
East and West and North and South, Wash thy hide and close thy mouth.
(Pit and rift and blue pool-brim, Middle-Jungle follow him!) Wood and Water, Wind and Tree, Jungle-Favour go with thee! Bagheera In the cage my life began; Well I know the worth of Man.
By the Broken Lock that freed-- Man-cub, ware the Man-cub's breed! Scenting-dew or starlight pale, Choose no tangled tree-cat trail.
Pack or council, hunt or den, Cry no truce with Jackal-Men.
Feed them silence when they say: "Come with us an easy way.
" Feed them silence when they seek Help of thine to hurt the weak.
Make no bandar's boast of skill; Hold thy peace above the kill.
Let nor call nor song nor sign Turn thee from thy hunting-line.
(Morning mist or twilight clear, Serve him, Wardens of the Deer!) Wood and Water, Wind and Tree, Jungle-Favour go with thee! The Three On the trail that thou must tread To the threshold of our dread, Where the Flower blossoms red; Through the nights when thou shalt lie Prisoned from our Mother-sky, Hearing us, thy loves, go by; In the dawns when thou.
shalt wake To the toil thou canst not break, Heartsick for the Jungle's sake; Wood and Water, Wind air Tree, Wisdom, Strength, and Courtesy, Jungle-Favour go with thee!
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Merrow Down

 There runs a road by Merrow Down--
 A grassy track to-day it is--
An hour out Guildford town,
 Above the river Wey it is.
Here, when they heard the hors-bells ring, The ancient Britons dressed and rode To which the dark Phoenicians bring Their goods along the Western Road.
Yes, here, or hereabouts, they met To hold their racial talks and such-- To barter beads for Whitby jet, And tin for gay shell torques and such.
But long ago before that time (When bison used to roam on it) Did Taffy and her Daddy climb That Down, and had their home on it.
Then beavers built in Broadstonebrook And made a swamp where Bramley stands; And bears from Shere would come and look For Taffimai where Shamley stands.
The Wey, that Taffy called Wagai, Was more than six times bigger then; And all the Tribe of Tegumai They cut a noble figure then! II Of all the Tribe of Tegumai Who cut that figure, none remain,-- On Merrow Down the cuckoos cry-- The silence and the sun remain.
But as the faithful years return And hearts unwounded sing again, Comes Taffy dancing through the fern To lead the Surrey spring again.
Her brows are bound with bracken-fronds, And golden elf-locks fly above; Her eyes are bright as diamonds And bluer than the sky above.
In moccasins and deer-skin cloak, Unfearing, free and fair she flits, And lights her little damp-wood smoke To show her Daddy where she flits.
For far--oh, very far behind, So far she cannot call to him, Comes Tegumai alone to find The daughter that was all to him!
Written by Alfred Lord Tennyson | Create an image from this poem

Northern Farmer: New Style

 Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaäy?
Proputty, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'em saäy.
Proputty, proputty, proputty--Sam, thou's an ass for thy paaïns: Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs, nor in all thy braaïns.
Woä--theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam; yon 's parson's 'ouse-- Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be eäther a man or a mouse? Time to think on it then; for thou'll be twenty to weeäk.
Proputty, proputty--woä then, woä--let ma 'ear mysén speäk.
Me an' thy muther, Sammy, 'as been a'talkin' o' thee; Thou's beän talkin' to muther, an' she beän a tellin' it me.
Thou'll not marry for munny--thou's sweet upo' parson's lass-- Noä--thou 'll marry for luvv--an' we boäth of us thinks tha an ass.
Seeä'd her todaäy goä by--Saäint's-daäy--they was ringing the bells.
She's a beauty, thou thinks--an' soä is scoors o' gells, Them as 'as munny an' all--wot's a beauty?--the flower as blaws.
But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.
Do'ant be stunt; taäke time.
I knaws what maäkes tha sa mad.
Warn't I craäzed fur the lasses mysén when I wur a lad? But I knaw'd a Quaäker feller as often 'as towd ma this: "Doänt thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!" An' I went wheer munny war; an' thy muther coom to 'and, Wi' lots o' munny laaïd by, an' a nicetish bit o' land.
Maäybe she warn't a beauty--I niver giv it a thowt-- But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt? Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weänt 'a nowt when 'e 's deäd, Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her breäd.
Why? for 'e 's nobbut a curate, an' weänt niver get hissén clear, An' 'e maäde the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shere.
An' thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' Varsity debt, Stook to his taäil thy did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.
An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi' noän to lend 'im a shuvv, Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married for luvv.
Luvv? what's luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too, Maäkin' 'em goä togither, as they've good right to do.
Couldn I luvv thy muther by cause 'o 'er munny laaïd by? Naäy--fur I luvv'd 'er a vast sight moor fur it: reäson why.
Ay, an' thy muther says thou wants to marry the lass, Cooms of a gentleman burn: an' we boäth on us thinks tha an ass.
Woä then, proputty, wiltha?--an ass as near as mays nowt-- Woä then, wiltha? dangtha!--the bees is as fell as owt.
Breäk me a bit o' the esh for his 'eäd, lad, out o' the fence! Gentleman burn! what's gentleman burn? is it shillins an' pence? Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest If it isn't the saäme oop yonder, fur them as 'as it 's the best.
Tis'n them as 'as munny as breaks into 'ouses an' steäls, Them as 'as coats to their backs an' taäkes their regular meäls, Noä, but it 's them as niver knaws wheer a meäl's to be 'ad.
Taäke my word for it Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.
Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a beän a laäzy lot, Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.
Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leastways 'is munny was 'id.
But 'e tued an' moil'd issén dead, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.
Looök thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill! Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill; An' I 'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou 'll live to see; And if thou marries a good un I 'll leäve the land to thee.
Thim's my noätions, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick; But if thou marries a bad un, I 'll leäve the land to Dick.
-- Coom oop, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'im saäy-- Proputty, proputty, proputty--canter an' canter awaäy.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

The Battle of Gujrat

 'Twas in the year of 1849, and on the 20th of February,
Lord Gough met and attacked Shere Sing right manfully.
The Sikh Army numbered 40,000 in strength, And showing a front about two miles length.
It was a glorious morning, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky; And the larks were singing merrily in the heavens high; And 'twas about nine o'clock in the morning the battle was begun, But at the end of three hours the Sikhs were forced to run.
Lord Gough's force was a mixture of European and native infantry, And well supported with artillery and cavalry; But the British Army in numbers weren't so strong, Yet, fearlessly and steadily, they marched along.
Shere Sing, the King, had taken up a position near the town, And as he gazed upon the British Army he did frown; But Lord Gough ordered the troops to commence the battle, With sixty big guns that loudly did rattle.
The Sikhs were posted on courses of deep water, But the British in a short time soon did them scatter.
Whilst the British cannonading loudly hums, And in the distance were heard the enemy's drums.
The the Sikhs began to fight with their artillery, But their firing didn't work very effectively; Then the British lines advanced on them right steadily, Which was a most inspiring sight to see.
Then the order was given to move forward to attack, And again-- and again-- through fear the enemy drew back.
Then Penny's brigade, with a ringing cheer, advanced briskly, And charged with their bayonets very heriocally.
Then the Sikhs caught the bayonets with their left hand, And rushed in with their swords, the scene was heroic and grand.
Whilst they slashed and cut with great dexterity, But the British charge was irresistable, they had to flee.
And with 150 men they cleared the village of every living thing, And with British cheers the village did ring; And the villagers in amazement and terror fled, Because the streets and their houses were strewn with their dead.
The chief attack was made on the enemy's right By Colin Campbell's brigade-- a most magnificent sight.
Though they were exposed to a very galling fire, But at last the Sikhs were forced to retire.
And in their flight everything was left behind, And the poor Sikhs were of all comfort bereft, Because their swords, cannon, drums, and waggons were left behind, Therefore little pleasure could they find.
Then Shere Sing fled in great dismay, But Lord Gough pursued him without delay, And captured him a few miles away; And now the Sikhs are our best soldiers of the present day, Because India is annexed to the British Dominions, and they must obey.