Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Asia: Vols. XXI–XXIII. 1876–79. | | | | India: Coromandel | | Coromandel | | John Bruce Norton (1815–1883) |
| | I. HERE be it mine, when India’s flame-breathed day | |
| Hath parched the bones, and fevered all the blood, | |
| To push forth in my shallop on the flood, | |
| Supine on deck, while the sea-breezes play | |
| Cool on the brow, what time the sun’s last ray | 5 |
| Shoots up long lines of green and gold that stud | |
| The western sky, all crimson else as blood. | |
| Then, as the gorgeous vision fades away, | |
| Mid the sole sounds, the paddle’s tuneful plash, | |
| And the far surf-roll of the waves that dash | 10 |
| Lazily on the Coromandel shore, | |
| To watch the white moon don her silver dress, | |
| While, one by one, the shy stars evermore | |
| Come sparkling forth, like fireflies numberless. | |
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II. HERE on this isle, where none beside me dwells, | 15 |
| Let me, the while my lonely leisure flies, | |
| Fathom all past and present histories; | |
| Reading the World’s tale from the sea-worn shells, | |
| Time’s medals, on whose face he marks and tells | |
| Creation-dates through countless centuries: | 20 |
| And be it mine, with calm, clear, piercing eyes, | |
| Here, where no bias turns, no passion swells, | |
| Or head or heart, the present acts of man | |
| To view; as from some promontoried steep | |
| The peerer through the glassy-surfaced wave, | 25 |
| Which on a summer noon no breezes fan, | |
| A thousand fathom downward in their grave, | |
| Surveys the buried cities of the deep. | | | | |
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