Once, long ago, when Nature’s hand
––Was busy at formation,
She found a box of chaos scraps,
––The loveliest of creation.
And so, in sweet caprice––who knows––?
––To please some dear companion,
She took the store of beauty-scraps
––And made this matchless canyon.
The wildest, sweetest, fairest things
––Are here in glen and torrent,
You’ll vow there never was a place
––Like Alum Rock, I warrant.
The quaint madrone, the laurel trees,
––And countless shrubs that cover
The mountain sides ; the soft, warm air,
––The blue sky bending over,
Make it a spot––when weary worn––
––You seek with loved companion,
And find the gods of rest and peace
––Dwell in this matchless canyon.