C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

India

Translation of Thomas Walsh

INDIA—whose enameled page unrolled

Like autumn’s gilded pageant, ’neath a sun

That withers not for ancient kings undone

Or gods decaying in their shrines of gold—

Where were thy vaunted princes, that of old

Trod thee with thunder—of thy saints was none

To rouse thee when the onslaught was begun,

That shook the tinseled sceptre from thy hold?

Dead—though behind thy gloomy citadels

The fountains lave their baths of porphyry;

Dead—though the rose-trees of thy myriad dells

Breathe as of old their speechless ecstasy;

Dead—though within thy temples, courts, and cells,

Their countless lamps still supplicate for thee.