| Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922. | | | | In Springtime |
| | | MY garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach, | |
| And the köil 1 sings above it, in the siris by the well, | |
| From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel’s chattering speech, | |
| And the blue jay screams and flutters where the cheery sat-bhai 2 dwell. | |
| But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the köil’s note is strange; | 5 |
| I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom-burdened bough. | |
| Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds of Springtime range— | |
| Give me back one day in England, for it’s Spring in England now! | |
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| Through the pines the gusts are booming, o’er the brown fields blowing chill, | |
| From the furrow of the ploughshare streams the fragrance of the loam, | 10 |
| And the hawk nests on the cliffside and the jackdaw in the hill, | |
| And my heart is back in England ’mid the sights and sounds of Home. | |
| But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of rose and peach is, | |
| Ah! köil, little köil, singing on the siris bough, | |
| In my ears the knell of exile your ceaseless bell like speech is— | 15 |
| Can you tell me aught of England or of Spring in England now? | |
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