greet

My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you.

In vain the spring my senses greets.

Fair on his feet the polish'd sandals shine,

And thus he greets the master of the swine:

There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace.

From the ground, Colombo’s port does not look like much. Those entering it are greeted by wire fences, walls dating back to colonial times and security posts. For mariners leaving the port after lonely nights on the high seas, the delights of the B52 Night Club and Stallion Pub lie a stumble away.