Bring me a pale flower-boy, White-limbed like a young heifer in a field, His lips a-quiver with unknown desire.... His soft throat virgin beneath my … - Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff

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

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

There is a little place in me
That cries like any child,
To be as forest things are, free,
Lonely, and strange and wild!