The Cities are full of pride, <br /> Challenging each to each -- <br /> This from her mountain-side, <br /> That from her burthened beach. <br /> <br /> They count their ships full tale -- <br /> Their corn and oil and wine, <br /> Derrick and loom and bale, <br /> And rampart's gun-flecked line; <br /> City by City they hail: <br /> "Hast aught to match with mine?" <br /> <br /> And the men that breed from them <br /> They traffic up and down, <br /> But cling to their cities' hem <br /> As a child to their mother's gown. <br /> <br /> When they talk with the stranger bands, <br /> Dazed and newly alone; <br /> When they walk in the stranger lands, <br /> By roaring streets unknown; <br /> Blessing her where she stands <br /> For strength above their own. <br /> <br /> (On high to hold her fame <br /> That stands all fame beyond, <br /> By oath to back the same, <br /> Most faithful-foolish-fond; <br /> Making her mere-breathed name <br /> Their bond upon their bond.) <br /> <br /> So thank I God my birth <br /> Fell not in isles aside -- <br /> Waste headlands of the earth, <br /> Or warring tribes untried -- <br /> But that she lent me worth <br /> And gave me right to pride. <br /> <br /> Surely in toil or fray <br /> Under an alien sky, <br /> Comfort it is to say: <br /> "Of no mean city am I!" <br /> <br /> (Neither by service nor fee <br /> Come I to mine estate -- <br /> Mother of Cities to me, <br /> For I was born in her gate, <br /> Between the palms and the sea, <br /> Where the world-end steamers wait.) <br /> <br /> Now for this debt I owe, <br /> And for her far-borne cheer <br /> Must I make haste and go <br /> With tribute to her pier. <br /> <br /> And she shall touch and remit <br /> After the use of kings <br /> (Orderly, ancient, fit) <br /> My deep-sea plunderings, <br /> And purchase in all lands. <br /> And this we do for a sign <br /> Her power is over mine, <br /> And mine I hold at her hands!<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-city-of-bombay/
