Mary, Pity Women!

Rudyard Kipling

1865 to 1936

Poem Image
Track 1

Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.

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  (Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?
 I 'ate you, grinnin' there....
 Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
  All 'e solemn promised 'e will shove be'ind 'im.
I've walked with men a bit,
  What's the use o' grievin', when the mother that bore you
We'd starve?  What do I care!
The name, an' lines to show,
 Your 'eart?  You 'aven't none....
  All the more you give 'em the less are they for givin'—
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
 I want the name—no more—
With some new fool in tow.
  When a man is tired there is naught will bind 'im;
It aren't no false alarm,
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
What 'ope for me or—it?
 What's left for us to do?
 The finish to your fun;
 We might, but this is shore!
  (Mary, pity women!), for we sail to-morrow!
  (Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?
You'd like to treat me fair?
  (Mary, pity women!), when the rest are like 'im?
  Nice while it lasted, an' now it is over—
 An' I'm the ruined one;
  (Mary, pity women!), but you're late in learnin'!
 But this—but this is you.
You—you 'ave brung the 'arm,
 An' now you'll off an' run
 Where can I 'ide or go?
You done the worst you know.
  Love lies dead, an' you cannot kiss 'im livin'.
  Down the road 'e led you there is no returnin'
  Sleep on 'is promises an' wake to your sorrow
  What's the good o' prayin' for The Wrath to strike 'im
 I 'ear!  You do not care—
You coward through and through!...
  What's the good o' pleadin', when the mother that bore you
 You can't, because we're pore?
 An' not to be an 'ore....
 For all you used to swear,
You call yourself a man,
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
So 'elp me Christ, it's true!
 My certain shame to bear?
An' leave me, as you can,
  Tear out your 'eart an' good-bye to your lover!