Dedication to the City of Bombay

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 the 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.