In old Tucson, in old Tucson,
What cared I how the days ran on?
A brown hand trailing the viol-string,
Hair as black as the raven's wing,
Lips that laughed and a voice that clung
To the sweet old airs of the Spanish tongue
Had drenched my soul with a mellow rime
Till all life shone, in that golden clime,
With the tender glow of the morning-time.
In old Tucson, in old Tucson,
How swift the merry days ran on!

In old Tucson, in old Tucson,
How soon the parting day came on!
But I oft turn back in my hallowed dreams,
And the low adobe a palace seems,
Where her sad heart sighs and her sweet voice sings
To the notes that throb from her viol-strings.
Oh, those tear-dimmed eyes and that soft brown hand!
And a soul that glows like the desert sand—
The golden fruit of a golden land!
In old Tucson, in old Tucson,
The long, lone days, O Time, speed on!