MANZANITA BLOOMS
Not fairer the blossoms of April days,
Or June aweary with gay bouquets,
Or Autumn glowing with leaves and berries,
Or faint with the fragrance of lighted rooms,
Than the honeyed garland that Nature carries
In the heart of the Western Februaries
When the manzanita blooms.
But there on the sunny upland slopes,
And crowning the rocky hills,
Where the mountain oak tosses grey moss plumes,
They open, the sweet manzanita blooms.
And soon shall their fragrant pink-tipped flakes
Weight the bending branch where the bird-song wakes,
'Till the hill is white with their fragrant snows,
And the first March wind through the tree-top blows.
Or June aweary with gay bouquets,
Or Autumn glowing with leaves and berries,
Or faint with the fragrance of lighted rooms,
Than the honeyed garland that Nature carries
In the heart of the Western Februaries
When the manzanita blooms.
But there on the sunny upland slopes,
And crowning the rocky hills,
Where the mountain oak tosses grey moss plumes,
They open, the sweet manzanita blooms.
And soon shall their fragrant pink-tipped flakes
Weight the bending branch where the bird-song wakes,
'Till the hill is white with their fragrant snows,
And the first March wind through the tree-top blows.