Evil Land


We meet in an evil land
That is near to the gates of hell.
I wait for thy command
To serve, to speed or withstand.
And thou sayest, I do not well?

Oh Love, the flowers so red
Are only tongues of flame,
The earth is full of the dead,
The new-killed, restless dead.
There is danger beneath and o'erhead.
And I guard thy gates in fear
Of words thou canst not hear,
Of peril and jeopardy,
Of signs thou canst not see,
And thou sayest 'tis ill that I came?


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Return to the Rudyard Kipling Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; False Dawn (poem)

It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.