<i>an epithalamium</i> <br /> <br />Through high defiles of warehouses that dwarf <br />With undetermined age the passer-by, <br />We walk toward the ancient wharf, <br />Assailed by smells – sweet, pungent, bitter, dry: <br /> <br />The perfumed plunder of a continent. <br />To this shore Roman, Moslem, Christian, Jew <br />Were gathered by the dense, sharp scent; <br />Absorbed now in the once-outlandish view <br /> <br />They camped by hills their children would call home. <br />So in the soil blurred Roman coins are found; <br />Saint Thomas stepped into the foam <br />And strode ashore, and blessed the acrid ground; <br /> <br />Jews settled here when Sion was laid waste, <br />And Arabs edged tall dhows into the bay, <br />Dutch burghers felt their northern haste, <br />Becalmed by slow siestas, ebb away . . . <br /> <br />So many faiths and peoples mingle here, <br />Breathing an air benign with spice and scent, <br />That we, though strangers, should not fear <br />To invoke, in honor of our sacrament, <br /> <br />The sensual, wise genius of this place. <br />Approach, kind god: bestow your gifts on two, <br />Your votaries, of different race <br />Made one, by love, by marriage, and by you.<br /><br />Dick Davis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memories-of-cochin/
