Joy of the Milliner, Envy of the Line, <br />Star of the Parks, jack-booted, sworded, helmed, <br />He sits between his holsters, solid of spine; <br />Nor, as it seems, though Westminster were whelmed, <br />With the great globe, in earthquake and eclipse, <br />Would he and his charger cease from mounting guard, <br />This Private in the Blues, nor would his lips <br />Move, though his gorge with throttled oaths were charred! <br />He wears his inches weightily, as he wears <br />His old-world armours; and with his port and pride, <br />His sturdy graces and enormous airs, <br />He towers, in speech his Colonel countrified, <br />A triumph, waxing statelier year by year, <br />Of British blood, and bone, and beef, and beer.<br /><br />William Ernest Henley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/london-types-life-guardsman/
