AT anchor in that harbour of the island,
The Chinese Gate,
We lay where, terraced under green-clad highland,
The Sea-town sate.
Ships, steamers, sailers, many a flag and nation,
A motley crew,
Junks, sampans, all East's swarming jubilation,
I watched and knew.
Then, as I stood, sweet sudden sounds out-swelling
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem