And in the net, smiling so drowsily,
My mother California, queen divine,
Rests, while the poppy garlands her entwine.
In her warm arms, 'neath cloudless summer skies,
As child I heard her bee-hummed lullabies,
Saw her red malvas, blue nemophylæ,
Pink manzanitas, deep-hued laurel tree,
And what were marvels to my childish eyes,
Her mariposas, (tethered butterflies).
What of the rich and wondrous foreign things