Behold, O Fortune-favoured one
To whom this dainty book may fall,
Pachmarri, Muttra, Brindabun
Shall rise before you at your call—
Benares' ghat, the Agra hall,
And verdant slopes of Ranikhet,
Are yours to gaze upon in all
The pomp of full-plate cabinet.
Mussoorie woods and boulders dun,
Dead homes of Kings, and streams that crawl
League-broad beneath a burning sun,
And green, bamboo-embattled wall—
A silver tarn, a floating yawl,
Squat shrine and Muslim minaret,
Are yours, at price exceeding small
In pomp of full-plate cabinet
And have you ne'er let Fancy run
Athwart the East we hold in thrall;
And have you ne'er with rod or gun
Left dusty Lines or dreary Mall?
Then turn the page where torrents brawl
And Nature's sumptuous throne is set
'Twixt giant rock and leafage tall
In pomp of full-plate cabinet.
Prince or Princess, now you have won
This book with gorgeous views beset,
Procure a camera and run
Yourself to full-plate cabinet.