I pass, but Thou, forever Thou remainest,
Lord yet to-be of all the lure of Lanka,
Blood from her heart, high Blossom of the ages.
O Star; O Sun of all the magic distance,
All the green palm-lands setting into Ocean.
All the far dream-blue diadem of mountains.
All the lone mares of pelican and egret;
Kingly unrippled Nuwara Wewa watching.
Silver itself, Mahinda’s ridge of silver.
All the high rocks, the forest-ruin rising,
Storied and still, throughout a marvel-isle
From Trincomalee to Tissamaharama:
Kindling all these, by these to passion kindled,
Deep to their deep, a death-less Music calling,
Mould thou the songs that mould a noble people.
Peace shall be Thine; but mine is holy torment.
Knowing I know not half the lore of Lanka
Land of heart’s longing
[Extract]
W.S.Senior was a churchman in colonial days on the island of Ceylon, now called Sri Lanka. His evocative poems about Sri Lanka are still among the most-loved poems about the island.