And the same ray that an hour ago in Bombay
Went by the wires through the dust of tea house,
Along streets which were buzzing;
Above the rusty Arabian wave;
On the faces of rickshaws, maids, languid clerks,
Squinted black sad eyes;
And after a bent beggar's plate
Illuminated colonial station;
Flashed on the needles of a bicycle;
Hurried through the cricket park;
Came here, to say that I will come
To his country in some life.
