01/07/2026
And as E. Rushmore Coglan prattled of this little planet I thought with glee of a great almost–cosmopolite who wrote for the whole world and dedicated himself to Bombay. In a poem he has to say that there is pride and rivalry between the cities of the earth, and that "the men that breed from them, they traffic up and down, but cling to their cities' hem as a child to the mother's gown." And whenever they walk "by roaring streets unknown" they remember their native city "most faithful, foolish, fond; making her mere–breathed name their bond upon their bond." And my glee was roused because I had caught Mr. Kipling napping. Here I had found a man not made from dust; one who had no narrow boasts of birthplace or country, one who, if he bragged at all, would brag of his whole round globe against the Martians and the inhabitants of the Moon.
- O. Henry, A Cosmopolite in a Café
Rudyard Kipling's 1896 poem, "To The City Of Bombay" features prominently (themeatically) in "A Cosmopolite in a Café", particularly the 5th stanza. The poem must have meant something to O. Henry, he used the entirety of the 1st stanza as the first quote preceding his renowned story, "A Municipal Report."
To the City of Bombay
(Dedication to The Seven Seas)
1
The Cities are full of pride,
Challenging each to each—
This from her mountain-side,
That from her burthened beach.
2
They count their ships full tale—
Their corn and oil and wine,
Derrick and loom and bale,
And rampart’s gun-flecked line;
City by City they hail:
“Hast aught to match with mine?”
3
And the men that breed from them
They traffic up and down,
But cling to their cities’ hem
As a child to their mother’s gown.
4
When they talk with the stranger bands,
Dazed and newly alone;
When they walk in the stranger lands,
By roaring streets unknown;
Blessing her where she stands
For strength above their own.
5
(On high to hold her fame
That stands all fame beyond,
By oath to back the same,
Most faithful-foolish-fond;
Making her mere-breathed name
Their bond upon their bond.)
6
So thank I God my birth
Fell not in isles aside—
Waste headlands of the earth,
Or warring tribes untried—
But that she lent me worth
And gave me right to pride.
7
Surely in toil or fray
Under an alien sky,
Comfort it is to say:
“Of no mean city am I!”
8
(Neither by service nor fee
Come I to mine estate—
Mother of Cities to me,
For I was born in her gate,
Between the palms and the sea,
Where the world-end steamers wait.)
9
Now for this debt I owe,
And for her far-borne cheer
Must I make haste and go
With tribute to her pier.
10
And she shall touch and remit
After the use of kings
(Orderly, ancient, fit)
My deep-sea plunderings,
And purchase in all lands.
And this we do for a sign
Her power is over mine,
And mine I hold at her hands!
A Cosmopolite in a Café
Friday January 16, 2026 1 PM CST
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