Classic Poem

He died at dawn in the land of snows;
A priest at the left, a priest at the right;
The doomed man praying for his pitiless foes,
And each priest holding a low dim light,
To pray for the soul of the dying.
But Windsor Castle was far away;
And Windsor Castle was never so gay
With her gorgeous banners flying!

The hero was hung in the windy dawn —
'Twas splendidly done, the telegraph said;
A creak in the neck, then the shoulders drawn;
A heave of the breast — and the man hung dead.
And, oh! never such valiant dying!
While Windsor Castle was far away
With its fops and fools on that windy day,
And its thousand banners flying!

Some starving babes where a stark stream flows
'Twixt windy banks by an Indian town,
A frenzied mother in the freezing snows,
While softly the pitying snow came down
To cover the dead and the dying
But Windsor Castle was gorgeous and gay
With lion banners that windy day —
With lying banners flying.