The Derelict - Бесплатная аудиокнига

DEDICATION

To the City of Bombay

       The Cities are full of pride,
        Challenging each to each —
       This from her mountain-side,
        That from her burthened beach.

       They count their ships full tale —
        Their corn and oil and wine,
       Derrick and loom and bale,
        And rampart's gun-flecked line;
       City by City they hail:
        “Hast aught to match with mine?”

       And the men that breed from them
        They traffic up and down,
       But cling to their cities' hem
        As a child to their mother's gown.

       When they talk with the stranger bands,
        Dazed and newly alone;
       When they walk in the stranger lands,
        By roaring streets unknown;
       Blessing her where she stands
        For strength above their own.

       (On high to hold her fame
        That stands all fame beyond,
       By oath to back the same,
        Most faithful-foolish-fond;
       Making her mere-breathed name
        Their bond upon their bond.)

       So thank I God my birth
        Fell not in isles aside —
       Waste headlands of the earth,
        Or warring tribes untried —
       But that she lent me worth
        And gave me right to pride.

       Surely in toil or fray
        Under an alien sky,
       Comfort it is to say:
        “Of no mean city am I!”

       (Neither by service nor fee
        Come I to mine estate —
       Mother of Cities to me,
        For I was born in her gate,
       Between the palms and the sea,
        Where the world-end steamers wait.)

       Now for this debt I owe,
        And for her far-borne cheer
       Must I make haste and go
        With tribute to her pier.

       And she shall touch and remit
        After the use of kings
       (Orderly, ancient, fit)
        My deep-sea plunderings,
       And purchase in all lands.
        And this we do for a sign
       Her power is over mine,
        And mine I hold at her hands!