And, after ages, with out rest, or fruits!
"Boots, boots, boots, and no discharge from war,"—
That is the Empire's anthem. Brass it out,
Ye Orchestras! But oh, leave not in doubt
Its import, Kipling,—that 'tis maelstrom roar—
'Tis England's streams of home-life, world about
And down a gulf, for Greed and Pride on shore!
TO THE ENGLISH PEOPLE
If deaf to Shelley's loudest sky-lark strain,