XVII

Go not, happy day,

      From the shining fields,

Go not, happy day,

      Till the maiden yields.

Rosy is the West,

      Rosy is the South,

Roses are her cheeks,

      And a rose her mouth.

When the happy Yes

      Falters from her lips,

Pass and blush the news

      O'er the blowing ships.

Over blowing seas,

      Over seas at rest,

Pass the happy news,

      Blush it thro' the West;

Till the red man dance

      By his red cedar tree,

And the red man's babe

      Leap, beyond the sea.

Blush from West to East,

      Blush from East to West,

Till the West is East,

      Blush it thro' the West.

Rosy is the West,

      Rosy is the South,

Roses are her cheeks,

      And a rose her mouth.