Poems, with The Ballad of Reading Gaol

SET in this stormy Northern sea,Queen of these restless fields of tide,England! what shall men say of thee,Before whose feet the worlds divide?The earth, a brittle globe of glass,Lies in the hollow of thy hand,And through its heart of crystal pass,Like shadows through a twilight land,The spears of crimson-suited war,The long white-crested waves of fight,And all the deadly fires which areThe torches of the lords of Night.The yellow leopards, strained and lean,The treacherous Russian knows so well,With gaping blackened jaws are seenLeap through the hail of screaming shell.The strong sea-lion of England's warsHath left his sapphire cave of sea,To battle with the storm that marsThe stars of England's chivalry.The brazen-throated clarion blowsAcross the Pathan's reedy fen,And the high steeps of Indian snowsShake to the tread of armed men.And many an Afghan chief, who liesBeneath his cool pomegranate-trees,Clutches his sword in fierce surmiseWhen on the mountain-side he seesThe fleet-foot Marri scout, who comesTo tell how he hath heard afarThe measured roll of English drumsBeat at the gates of Kandahar.