I agree with you (and David Perlmutter) about the often ignored complexity of Kipling's thought.

But I much prefer Conrad, or Robert Louis Stevenson, who subverts the ethnocentrism of British imperialism in A Child's Garden of Verses.

The following poem only makes sense if it's taken ironically:

FOREIGN CHILDREN

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,

Little frosty Eskimo,

Little Turk or Japanee,

Oh! don't you wish that you were me?

You have seen the scarlet trees

And the lions over seas;

You have eaten ostrich eggs,

And turned the turtles off their legs.

Such a life is very fine,

But it's not so nice as mine:

You must often, as you trod,

Have wearied not to be abroad.

You have curious things to eat,

I am fed on proper meat;

You must dwell beyond the foam,

But I am safe and live at home.

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,

Little frosty Eskimo,

Little Turk or Japanee,

Oh! don't you wish that you were me?