Much beauty have I seen these summer days, In lands whose fame for loveliness is great; But deeper cause for wonder and for praise, Is seeing once again my desert state. New Mexico! No tranquil beauty thine, Like that of England's sweetly wooded hills; Nor do we see the flowing, rhythmic line That wanderers in tamer regions thrills. But there we miss the play of light and shade, Your flaming color, and your sunlit air. The memories of those foreign landscapes fade When we behold your mesas grimly bare. Others may sing of seas and lakes of blue; My heart reserves its loyalty for you. |