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Darzee′s Chaunt. Rudyard Kipling

 Singer and tailor am I,
 Doubled the joys that I know,
 Proud of my lilt to the sky,
 Proud of the house that I sew,
 Over and under, so weave I my music--so weave I the house that I sew.

 Sing to your fledglings again,
 Mother, 0 lift up your head!
 Evil that plagued us is slain,
 Death in the garden lies dead.
 Terror that hid in the roses is impotent--flung on the dung-hill and dead!

 Who hath delivered us, who?
 Tell me his nest and his name.
 Rikki, the valiant, the true,
 Tikki, with eyeballs of flame,
 Rik-tikki-tikki, the ivory-fanged, the Hunter with eyeballs of flame.

 Give him the Thanks of the Birds,
 Bowing with tail-feathers spread!
 Praise him in nightingale-words,
 Nay, I will praise him instead.
 Hear! I will sing you the praise of the bottle-tailed Rikki, with eyeballs of red!
 (Here Rkki-tikki interrupted, and the rest of the song is lost.)

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