Dark purple, chased with sudden gloom and glory, Like waves in wild unrest,
Low-wooded billows and steep summits hoary, Ridge, slope, and mountain crest,
Cease at her feet with faces turned to meet her, Enthroned, apart,
Above her vassal hills whose voices greet her The Mountain Queen.
Fair City, unto whom as to a lover Our tender memories run—Childhood and Springtide’s careless hours are over, And Summer days begun.
Behold, amid what wealth of vine and meadow Thy maiden feet are set;
And on thy brow, undimmed of care or shadow, Thy civic coronet!
There have been dreams for thee by men who slumber Sound where no voice may reach,
Who, ere they joined the host that none may number, Saw what they strove to teach—The vision of a city, wide and splendid, Crowning the Range’s wall,
And o’er thy sweeping plateau, far extended, Welcome for all!
