O Komenda Hill, in war a bastion

In peace a forum, I've seen your glories,

And O, am yours and all for now and aye,

Far and wide you dominate land and sea

Whose breezes salute you, and consecrate.

Your dome the sun scans, your vales the rains deepen,

But, indomitable, you stand serene.

O sacred hill, I hail your large welcome:

To the student knowledge distilled, the sick

Wine, the traveller beauty, the care-worn peace.

But it's your surrounds I adore, and keep:

Their morning greens dew-pearled, and fresh, and pure;

Their farms well-patterned, varied, and tended

To raise a royal palm, to milk-fill the

Coconut, to sugar the cane, to feed the grain.

Then night, which hides your wounds and brings perfumes,

Invokes the moon's light or a harbour's eyes

To jewel your sea, its rocks and its sands.

Live on, O noble hill, live on, to shelter

Your soft-eyed student, to guard your secrets,

To protect your peasantry, and to change

My doubts to faith, my heart's darkness to light.