On a calm jetty looking off to Mecca

Sons of Mahomet watch the low day's rim.

He too is waiting for it—with an echo

Upon his lips of a believer's hymn.

The red gate-towers rise against the twilight,

The palace of the heathen king is hid,

The white bridge bent across the moat beside it

Seems now of all unholinesses rid.

He wishes it were so with all this city

Whose Buddha-built pagodas skyward swim;

But he can only gaze on them and pity—

And sing within his heart a Christian hymn.

[Pg 75]

[Pg 75]

THE PARSEE WOMAN

(At Bombay)

Cast me out from among you,

I will not see my child

Laid aloft where the vultures

May clamour for him, wild!

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