{"id":9234,"date":"2023-03-21T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2023-03-21T05:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=9234"},"modified":"2023-03-21T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2023-03-21T05:00:00","slug":"in-partibus","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/in-partibus\/","title":{"rendered":"In Partibus"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

From The Sun, March 21, 1915<\/a>. By Rudyard Kipling.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

The buses run to Battersea,    The buses run to BowThe buses run to Westbourne Grove    And Notting Hill also;But I am sick of London town    From Shepherd\u2019s Bush to Bow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

I see the smut upon my cuff    And feel him on my nose;I cannot leave my window wide    When gentle zephyr blows,Because he brings disgusting things    And drops \u2019em on my clothes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

The sky, a greasy soup-toureen,    Shuts down atop my brow.Yes, I have sighed for London town     And I have got it now:And half of it is fog and filth,    And half is fog and row.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

And when I take my nightly prowl    \u2019Tis passing good to meetThe pious Briton lugging home    His wife and daughter sweet,Through four packed miles of seething vice    Thrust out upon the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

Earth holds no horror like to this    In any land displayed,From Suez unto Sandy Hook,    From Calais to Port Said;And \u2019twas to hide their heathendom    The beastly fog was made.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

I cannot tell when dawn is near,    Or when the day is done, Because I always see the gas    And never see the sun,And now, methinks, I do not care    A cuss for either one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

But stay, there was an orange, or    An aged egg its yolk;It might have been a Pears\u2019 balloon    Or Barnum\u2019s latest joke;I took it for the sun and wept    To watch it through the smoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s oh to see the morn ablaze    Above the mango-tope,When homeward through the dewy cane    The little jackals lope,And half Bengal heaves into view,    New washed\u2014with sunlight soap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s oh for one deep whisky peg    When Christmas winds are blowing,When all the men you ever knew,    And all you\u2019ve ceased from knowing,Are \u201centered for the Tournament,    And everything that\u2019s going.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

But I consort with long-haired things    In velvet collar-rolls,Who talk about the Aims of Art,    And \u201ctheories\u201d and \u201cgoals,\u201dAnd moo and coo with women-folk    About their blessed souls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

But that they call \u201cpsychology\u201d    Is lack of liver pill,And all that blights their tender souls    Is eating till they\u2019re ill,And their chief way of winning goals    Consists of sitting still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s oh to meet an Army man,    Set up and trimmed and taut,Who does not spout hashed libraries    Or think the next man\u2019s thought,And walks as though he owned himself,    And hogs his bristles short.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

Hear now, a voice across the seas    To kin beyond my ken,If ye have ever filled an hour    With stories from my pen,For pity\u2019s sake send some one here    To bring me news of men!<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

The buses run to Islington,    To Highgate and Soho,To Hammersmith and Kew therewith    And Camberwell also,But I can only murmur \u201cBus!\u201d    From Shepherd\u2019s Bush to Bow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From The Sun, March 21, 1915. By Rudyard Kipling. The buses run to Battersea,    The buses run to BowThe buses run to Westbourne Grove    And Notting Hill also;But I am sick of London town    From Shepherd\u2019s Bush to Bow. I see the smut upon my cuff    And feel him on my nose;I cannot leave my window wide    When gentle zephyr […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,18],"tags":[268],"class_list":["post-9234","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-newspapers","category-the-sun","tag-rudyard-kipling"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9234","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9234"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9234\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9234"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9234"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9234"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}