Far, far away, where sunsets weave
Their golden tissues o'er the scene,
And distant glaciers, dimly heave,
Like trailing ghosts, their peaks between--
Where, at the Rocky Mountain's base,
Arkansas, yet an infant, lingers,
A while the drifting leaves to chase,
Like laughing youth, with playful fingers--
There Nature, in her childhood, wrought
'Mid rock and rill, with leaf and flower,
A vale more beautiful than thought
E'er gave to favored fairy's bower:
And in that hidden hermitage,
Of forest, river, lake, and dell,--
While Time himself grew gray and sage,
The lone Enchantress loved to dwell.