The drowsy carrier sways
 To the drowsy horses' tramp.
His axles winnow the sprays
Of the hedge where the rabbit plays
 In the light of his single lamp.

He hears a roar behind,
 A howl, a hoot, and a yell,
A headlight strikes him blind
And a stench o'erpowers the wind 
 Like a blast from the mouth of Hell.

He mends his swingle-bar,
 And loud his curses ring;
But a mother watching afar
Hears the hum of the doctor's car
 Like the beat of an angel's wing!

So, to the poet's mood,
 Motor or carrier's van,
Properly understood,
Are neither evil nor good,
 Ormuzd not Ahriman!


facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest

Add Contradictions to your library.

Return to the Rudyard Kipling library , or . . . Read the next poem; Covenent

© 2022