Poem by Rudyard Kipling

The Beginner

    After He Has Been Extemporising On an Instrument
    Not Of His Own Invention
    
                       Browning

    --The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)

Lo! What is this that I make -- sudden, supreme, unrehearsed --
 This that my clutch in the crowd pressed at a venture has raised?
Forward and onward I sprang when I thought (as I ought) I reversed,
 And a cab like martagon opes and I sit in the wreckage dazed.

And someone is taking my name, and the driver is rending the air
 With cries for my blood and my gold, and a snickering news-boy brings
My cap, wheel-pashed from the kerb. I must run her home for repair,
 Where she leers with her bonnet awry--flat on the nether springs!

1. In the Case of Rukhmibhaio
2. Quantities of ’em
3. Quaeritur
4. Index Malorum
5. Reading the Will

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