M. L. Hope, Indian and Other Tales
“ May, in an Eastern city, under burning skies, Where many a weary exile for the dear old homeland cries; Only those know the longing and pain Who have spent long years on the sun-dried plain, Whom days of toil under a pitiless sun Have robbed of hope ere the race was won. Those who each year are free to go To the hills where the cooling breezes blow; Where they see afar off the snow-clad peaks, And nature in all her beauty speaks, Of the weary striving know but the least, For they see but the bright side of life in the East. ”
