For southern wind and east wind meet 



Where, girt and crowned by sword and fire, 



England with bare and bloody feet 



Climbs the steep road of wide empire. 



O lonely Himalayan height, 



Gray pillar of the Indian sky. 

 Where sawest thou in clanging fight 



Our winged dogs of Victory? 



The almond groves of Samarcand, 



Bokhara, where red lilies blow-, 

 And Oxus, by whose yellow sand 



The grave white-turbaned merchants go: 



And on from thence to Ispahan, 



The gilded garden of the sun. 

 Whence the long dusty caravan 



Brings cedar and vermilionj 



And that dread city of Cabool, 



Set at the mountain's scarped feet. 



Whose marble tanks are ever full 

 With water for the noonday heat; 



Where through the narrow straight Bazaar 



A little maid Circassian 

 Is led, a present from the Czar 



Unto some old and bearded khan — 



The 



Human 



Harvest 



[95] 



