IONE VALLEY
Bright rainbow hues, that paint the scene,
Where childish eyes first gaze,
Though mists of time may intervene
To dim your brightest rays;
Yet through those mists, bright sunbeams shine,
That long ago have shone.
Thy memories are forever mine,
Fair Valley of Ione.
Where childish eyes first gaze,
Though mists of time may intervene
To dim your brightest rays;
Yet through those mists, bright sunbeams shine,
That long ago have shone.
Thy memories are forever mine,
Fair Valley of Ione.
Thy flowers, like benedictions sweet,
In fields of fancy grow;
As once they nodded at my feet
In that fair long ago;
And still imagination strays
Through grain-fields, zephyr-blown;
As in thy Summer's golden days,
Fair Valley of Ione.
In fields of fancy grow;
As once they nodded at my feet
In that fair long ago;
And still imagination strays
Through grain-fields, zephyr-blown;
As in thy Summer's golden days,
Fair Valley of Ione.
Thy roses, wet with nature's tears,
Round memory's urn are twined;
They strew the pathway of the years,
The cloisters of the mind.
Their velvet petals, crimson red,
Lie strewn by fancy thrown;
Where thoughts of thee are wont to tread,
Fair Valley of Ione.
Round memory's urn are twined;
They strew the pathway of the years,
The cloisters of the mind.
Their velvet petals, crimson red,
Lie strewn by fancy thrown;
Where thoughts of thee are wont to tread,
Fair Valley of Ione.
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