You, Beloved, are the silvery lake shimmering in the desert of my youth. - Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff

She stands, a guardian of the endless sea, </br> Her garb is golden, and her lips are flame, </br> She is the portal of Eternity </br> And Beauty is the realm from whence she came! </br> She is the voice of many bleeding lands— </br> America, she calls! To Arms! Arise! </br> For like a shimmering sabre in the skies </br> In scarlet glow she stands </br> A guardian of the earth and sea— </br> Liberty!

All paths lead to you </br> Where e'er I stray, </br> You are the evening star </br> At the end of day. All paths lead to you </br> Hill-top or low, </br> You are the white birch </br> In the sun's glow. All paths lead to you </br> Where e'er I roam. </br> You are the lark-song </br> Calling me home!

Bring me a languid woman, perfumed, young, </br> Her dusky body hung with dazzling gems </br> And strange, exotic iridescent stuffs — </br> Her wanton eyes like thirsty summer moons.