Page:Rudyard Kipling - A diversity of creatures.djvu/227

Rh As the war-horse smelleth the battle afar,
 * The entered Soul, no less,

He saith: 'Ha! Ha!' where the trumpets are
 * And the thunders of the Press.

Canst thou number the days that we fulfil,
 * Or the Times that we bring forth?

Canst thou send the lightnings to do thy will,
 * And cause them reign on earth?

Hast thou given a peacock goodly wings
 * To please his foolishness?

Sit down at the heart of men and things,
 * Companion of the Press!

The Pope may launch his Interdict,
 * The Union its decree,

But the bubble is blown and the bubble is pricked
 * By Us and such as We.

Remember the battle and stand aside
 * While Thrones and Powers confess

That King over all the children of pride
 * Is the Press—the Press—the Press!