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.)