Of valley lily, white as snow;
And fresh May-roses, branching long--
Braid all these in a garland gay,
To crown the Poet for his song,
Sung in our haunts this summer day!
[ SUNSET AT THE MOUTH OF THE COLUMBIA.]
There sinks the sun; like cavalier of old,
Servant of crafty Spain,
He flaunts his banner, barred with blood and gold,