That it bursts with a noise like a thunder’s blast,
Is it where thro’ the rich deep mellow soil
The beet strikes down as if digging for oil,
Is it where each irrigating sluice
Is fed with water-melon juice,
Where tatoes and onions are hard to beat
And the cattle get fat on nothing to eat,
Where everything grows to such a wondrous size
That the simplest stories appear like lies,
Tell me in sooth I’d like to know—