  I've a friend beyond the ocean So regardful, so sincere, And he sends me in a letter Such a pretty souvenir. It is crushed to death and withered, Out of shape and very flat, But its pure, delicious odor Is the richer for all that. 'Tis a rose from Honolulu, And it bears the tropic brand, Sandwiched in this friendly missive From that far-off flower-land. It shall mingle pot-À-pourri With the scents I love and keep; Some of them so very precious That remembrance makes me weep. While I dream I hear the music That of happiness foretells, Like the flourishing of trumpets And the sound of marriage bells. Chosen his by happy fate, He shall gather when he cometh Sailing through the Golden Gate. Mine, a public posy, growing Somewhere by the garden wall, Might have gone to any stranger, May have been admired by all. But the rose in beauty blushing, Tenderly and sweetly grown In the home and its affections, Blooms for him, and him alone. Speed the voyager returning; His shall be a welcome warm, With the Rose of Minnesota Gently resting on his arm. Love embraces in his kingdom Earth and sea and sky and air. Hail, Columbia! hail, Hawaii! It is Heaven everywhere. |
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