I
Turn back the leaves of history. On yon Pacific shore
A world-known city's fall and rise shall thrill your hearts once more.
'Twas April; nineteen-six the year; old San Francisco lay
Effulgent in the splendor of the dying orb of day
That bathed in flood of crimson light Mount Tamalpais' lonely height
And kissed the sister towns "goodnight" across the misty bay.
It burst in glory on the hills, lit up the princely homes,
And gleamed from lofty towers and spires and flashed from gilded domes;
It glorified the massive blocks caught in its widening flow,
Engulfed the maze of streets and parks that stretched away below,
Till marble white and foliage green and vales of gray, and silvery sheen
Of ocean's surface vast, serene, were tinted by its glow.
The tranquil murmurs of the deep were borne on balmy air
All odorous with lily breath and roses sweet and rare.
The zephyrs sang a lullaby as the slow, fiery ball
Ended its trail of gorgeousness behind horizon's wall.
Then gray absorbed each rainbow hue and dark the beauteous landscape grew
As shadowy Evening softly drew her curtain over all.