The People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the snow-- <br />They beg for coffee and sugar; they go where the white men go. <br />The People of the Western Ice, they learn to steal and fight; <br />They sell their furs to the trading-post; they sell their souls to <br />the white. <br />The People of the Southern Ice, they trade with the whaler's <br />crew; <br />Their women have many ribbons, but their tents are torn and few. <br />But the People of the Elder Ice, beyond the white man's ken-- <br />Their spears are made of the narwhal-horn, and they are the last <br />of the Men!<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/quiquern/
