MANDALAY By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin eastward to the sea, Theres 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; Cant 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 Theebaws Queen, An I seed her first a-smokin of a whackin white cheroot, An a-wastin Christian kisses on an eathen idols foot: Bloomin idol made o mud— What they called the Great Gawd Budd— Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed er where she stud! On the road to Mandalay, etc. When the mist was on the rice-fields an the sun was droppin slow, Shed git her little banjo an shed sing Kulla-lo-lo! With er arm upon my shoulder an er cheek agin my cheek We uster 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, etc. But thats all shove beind me—long ago an fur away, An there aint no busses runnin from the Bank to Mandalay; An Im learnin ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: If youve eard the East a-callin, you wont never eed naught else. No! you wont 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, etc. 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? Ive a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay, etc. Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there arent no Ten Commandments an a man can raise a thirst; For the temple-bells are callin, and its 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! Oh the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin-fishes play, An the dawn comes up like thunder outer China crost the Bay! By Rudyard Kipling
Posted on: Wed, 30 Oct 2013 03:46:44 +0000
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