Classic Poem

Little Vancouver was born in the west,
The healthiest baby on Canada's breast.
What matter if once in its cradle it lay
Its life all but doomed on its christening day,
Its poor little body fire-fevered lay lost,
And Canada mourned her sweet infant as lost.
But little Vancouver just shook its small head,
And said ‘I'm laid up but you bet I'm not dead.’

And motherly Canada nursed the wee youth,
And bought it a railroad to cut its first tooth.
And soon it grew out of its swaddling bands,
To slip from the lap and the old nurse's hands,
To toddle away in its two little shoes,
While all its grown relatives soon heard the news,
That the sturdy young westerner nothing depresses,
For little Vancouver is in its short dresses.

Little Vancouver is royal of birth,
And a coronet carries of national worth
That some day she may wear, and surprise the whole nation,
By causing the Queen's City full abdication
Of sceptre and kingdom, for some time or other.
This pretty young Princess will rival her mother;
Though aged but eight summers, this fact you can't down,
That little Vancouver is heir to the crown.

Little Vancouver is growing apace,
And a miniature is of the Queen City's face;
She's tall, and she's strong, and surpassingly fair,
And about her a certain imperial air
That suggests old Toronto must look to her merits,
For this little child the title inherits,
And not many years may have overhead flown,
E'er little Vancouver may sit on the throne.