Darzee's Chaunt

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, O 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. I will sing you the praise of the bottle-tailed Rikki with eyeballs of red!