Night in California
When the sun is sinking slow
Behind the mountains blue and white,
And the mist upon the town is falling low;
When the mocker's sleepy note
Seem to stifle in his throat—
Then to us in California, it is night.
When the Mission's chapel bell
Is ringing out calm and clear and light;
And the padre's gentle Ave seems to swell,
Till the nightingale's sweet song
Seems the beauty to prolong—
Then to us in California, it is night.
When the 'cacia's scented flower
And the orange blossom white
Seem to lend a subtle fragrance to the hour.
When the palm tree's gentle sigh
Breathes a tale of days gone by—
Then to us in California, it is night.
Nov. 1902.
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