ghizela rowe - rudyard kipling - to the city of bombay lyrics
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!
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