Glittering--glaring--glistening--
In pompous, proud array;
Maces and crowns and sceptres--
Orders and ribbons gay:
Bright in the white electric light;
Caged and guarded there;
Symbol and sign that the luck of line
A king or a cad might wear.
Blinking--blinding--blazing--
The crown-topped hillock shone,
And the gaping crowd in voices loud
Coveted gilt and stone.
Coveted idle gilt and stone,
Though never stopped to stare
At a little cross on the other side,
Half hid in the alcove there.
But slowly into the Tower
Through the narrow windows crept,
The Winds of the Outer Marches--
The Winds that had seen and wept
At Ladysmith--Trafalgar--
Sebastopol--Lahore;
Khartoum--Seringapatam--
Kabul and Gwalior.
The breath of the red Sirocco
That sweeps from the white Soudan:
The winds that beat through the Kyber Pass
Where the blood of England ran:
The winds that lift o’er the Great South Drift--
O’er the veldt and the frozen plain--
They stooped and kissed the little bronze cross,
And went on their way again.
And the blaze of crowns and sceptres--
The power and pomp of kings;
And the glare of the glittering Orders--
The tinsel of Little Things,
Paled in the ancient Tower--
Faded and died alone,
And only a cross--For Valour--
With mystic brightness shone.