Читать книгу Verses 1889-1896 - Rudyard Kipling - Страница 15

  By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea,

  There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me;

  For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:

  “Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!”

       Come you back to Mandalay,

      Where the old Flotilla lay:

      Can’t you ‘ear their paddles chunkin’ from Rangoon to Mandalay?

      On the road to Mandalay,

      Where the flyin’-fishes play,

      An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

  ‘Er petticoat was yaller an’ ‘er little cap was green,

  An’ ‘er name was Supi-yaw-lat – jes’ the same as Theebaw’s Queen,

  An’ I seed her first a-smokin’ of a whackin’ white cheroot,

  An’ a-wastin’ Christian kisses on an ‘eathen idol’s foot:

      Bloomin’ idol made o’mud —

      Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd —

      Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed ‘er where she stud!

      On the road to Mandalay.

  When the mist was on the rice-fields an’ the sun was droppin’ slow,

  She’d git ‘er little banjo an’ she’d sing “Kulla-lo-lo!”

   With ‘er arm upon my shoulder an’ ‘er cheek agin’ my cheek

  We useter watch the steamers an’ the hathis pilin’ teak.

      Elephints a-pilin’ teak

      In the sludgy, squdgy creek,

      Where the silence ‘ung that ‘eavy you was ‘arf afraid to speak!

      On the road to Mandalay.

  But that’s all shove be’ind me – long ago an’ fur away,

  An’ there ain’t no ‘busses runnin’ from the Bank to Mandalay;

  An’ I’m learnin’ ‘ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:

  “If you’ve ‘eard the East a-callin’, you won’t never ‘eed naught else.”

       No! you won’t ‘eed nothin’ else

      But them spicy garlic smells,

      An’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an’ the tinkly temple-bells;

      On the road to Mandalay.

  I am sick o’ wastin’ leather on these gritty pavin’-stones,

  An’ the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;

  Tho’ I walks with fifty ‘ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,

  An’ they talks a lot o’ lovin’, but wot do they understand?

      Beefy face an’ grubby ‘and —

      Law! wot do they understand?

      I’ve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!

      On the road to Mandalay.

  Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,

  Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments an’ a man can raise a thirst;

  For the temple-bells are callin’, an’ it’s there that I would be —

  By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;

      On the road to Mandalay,

      Where the old Flotilla lay,

      With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!

      On the road to Mandalay,

      Where the flyin’-fishes play,

      An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!