Where endless waves go softly to and fro
Across a lake all flashing in the sun,
Where the Great River, its long journey done,
With mighty calmness rolls, majestic, slow,
Where all things move to rhythms sweet and low,
And like slipped rosary beads the moments run,
In those old gardens from the Spaniard won,
Born of the wind and sky, the roses blow.
She blossomed there, my rose of Southern skies.
The dusk of tropic nights is in her hair,
The tropic sunlight smoulders in her eyes;
Her breath is sweet as the rose-haunted air.
In all love's gentle lore she is most wise,
My Heart of Gold, my Rose beyond compare!