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!
