MANUELA.
A BALLAD OF CALIFORNIA.
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BY BAYARD TAYLOR.
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From the doorway, Manuela, in the sheeny April morn,
Southward looks, along the valley, over leagues of gleaming corn;
Where the mountain’s misty rampart like the wall of Eden towers,
And the isles of oak are sleeping on a painted sea of flowers.
All the air is full of music, for the winter rains are o’er,