Classic Poem

CALIFORNIA

" Aw my dear life! well, iss, of course,
'Tis very fine, you're right, —
A hundred miles and more of plains,
And then the mountains' height;
The valley and the waterfall,
Beside the towering tree.
But bless 'ee, 'tisn't nothin', sir,
To that which I can see.

" A stretch of furze bush all ablaze,
Another stretch of fern;
A patch of purple heather bloom,
And then you take a turn;
You pass great piles of rubbish heaps,
You pass a bal that's knacked;
And then a whitewashed cottage peeps
From where the corn is stacked.

" I see the garden through the gate,
I hear the hum of bees,
The butterflies are everywhere,
The birds sing in the trees.
The flowers — that's the sort I love,
Sweet Williams pink and red,
The boy's-love grows beside the door;
The jessamine's overhead;

" The fuchsia blooms most all the year,
The happy roses creep
About the window of the place,
Where my dear maid do sleep;
To think they greet her at the dawn,
To think that their sweet bloom
Should breathe about my awn, my awn,
And fill that little room!

" I see her standing at the gate
When milking time is done;
And all the sea and sky is red
With setting of the sun;
The golden glory of it all
Is shining in her hair.
The flowers at her bosom
Are not more sweet or fair.

" Aw, my dear life, I tell 'ee what,
When I do think of she
Your gold is but a little thing —
The only gold for me
Is just enough to make a ring,
To tell the world she's mine;
And diamonds — I'd rather see
Her blessed eyes ashine.

" The glory of your scenery
Sinks all into the shade
Beside the thought of her I love,
My awn sweet little maid.
How poor a thing it seems to me
To be a millionaire,
Beside a kiss from those dear lips,
My little maid so fair! "