VAIN SUITORS

By Robert J. C. Stead

You may tell in fondest phrases

How Venetian glory raises

Sunlit domes and basking marbles as her streets flow to the sea;

Sing of Florence or Geneva

Or the Bay of Naples; weave a

Web of sentiment — but leave a

Little sentiment for me.

Where the warm Atlantic waters

Lave your laughing sons and daughters

By a hundred sunny cities where her tides flow full and free,

Or on Caribbean beaches

While the water pulls and reaches

At your heart-strings — in your speeches

Save a sentiment for me.

San Francisco's golden fulgor,

Catalina's horticulture,

Every symphony of gladness, every gaiety there be;

Every land and every nation

Somewhere claim your admiration:

From your meed of approbation

Save your fealty to me.

Cloudless skies and peerless weather

Link my hearts and homes together

And the crisp, pure air of Winter vitalizes blood and brain;

Prairie breezes softly blowing,

Wheat fields’ rustle — cattle lowing —

Broader visions coming — growing —

Woo, O lands, ye woo in vain!