A Ballade of
Indian Tea

I wander East, I wander West 
       I wander where the ferries be—
I wander, like a man possest
       From Zero to Infinity— 
       From Harlem to the moaning Sea
I tramp the city o'er and o'er— 
       In hopeless search of Indian tea, 
       Kulu, Assam, or Palampore.

Joy turns to sorrow in my breast, 
       I lunch at noon with Misery,
Because of woe, untold, unguessed, 
       That parts me from Humanity.
       What share have I in revelry,
Who clamour at each grocer's door—  
       'For Pity's sake, some Indian tea 
       Kulu, Assam, or Palampore!'

They said that 'mild Oo Long was best 
       Or Congou  grown in far Tamsui—
They tempted me with many a chest 
       Packed by the gentle Japanee.
       Yet one (his name was Cassidy
His venerable head was hoar)
       Cried:— 'Sir I've got some Indian tea, 
       Kulu, Assam, or Palampore!'


Princess, enjoy with girlhood's zest 
       When strikes the hour of half past three,
The fragrant cup that with your guest
       You sip in Pennsylvaniee.
       This day to other lands I flee,
Yet, ere the steamer takes me o'er 
       Remember, by that Indian tea,
       Myself, as well as Palampore.

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