Analysis of Christmas in India
Rudyard Kipling 1865 (Mumbai) – 1936 (London)
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks -- the sky is saffron-yellow --
As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow
That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born.
Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway!
Oh the clammy fog that hovers
And at Home they're making merry 'neath the white and scarlet berry --
What part have India's exiles in their mirth?
Full day begind the tamarisks -- the sky is blue and staring --
As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke,
And they bear One o'er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring,
To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke.
Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly --
Call on Rama -- he may hear, perhaps, your voice!
With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars,
And to-day we bid "good Christian men rejoice!"
High noon behind the tamarisks -- the sun is hot above us --
As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan.
They will drink our healths at dinner -- those who tell us how they love us,
And forget us till another year be gone!
Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching!
Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain!
Youth was cheap -- wherefore we sold it.
Gold was good -- we hoped to hold it,
And to-day we know the fulness of our gain.
Grey dusk behind the tamarisks -- the parrots fly together --
As the sun is sinking slowly over Home;
And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether.
That drags us back how'er so far we roam.
Hard her service, poor her payment -- she is ancient, tattered raiment --
India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind.
If a year of life be lent her, if her temple's shrine we enter,
The door is hut -- we may not look behind.
Black night behind the tamarisks -- the owls begin their chorus --
As the conches from the temple scream and bray.
With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us,
Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day!
Call a truce, then, to our labors -- let us feast with friends and neighbors,
And be merry as the custom of our caste;
For if "faint and forced the laughter," and if sadness follow after,
We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.
Scheme | ABABCDEX FGFGEHDH IXIXFJKKJ LMLMKNLN ICICDOLO |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1101010111010 10100010101 001010101101110 10101010111 1011101101001 10101110 0111101010101010 1111001011 11101000111010 10101010101 01111001111111110 10101010111 1110101011101010 11101110111 110110101010111010 01111110101 110101000111011 11101011101 11110111011111111 00111010111 101111101011010 101010101001 1111111 11111111 01111011101 110101000101010 10111010101 0111111110001110 1111101111 101010101110101 100101101101 1011111010101110 0111111101 110101000101110 1011010101 1010101100101011 11101110101 10111101011111010 011010101101 1110101001101010 11101110101 |
Closest metre | Iambic heptameter |
Characters | 2,198 |
Words | 432 |
Sentences | 22 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 9, 8, 8 |
Lines Amount | 41 |
Letters per line (avg) | 41 |
Words per line (avg) | 10 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 339 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 86 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 29, 2023
- 2:10 min read
- 252 Views
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"Christmas in India" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/33176/christmas-in-india>.
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