The Spirit of Los Angeles

Benjamin Franklin Field

Ethereal dweller, neath southern skies,
With shining, yellow hair
Where gloom awing with wishing flies
And life is fond and fair.
 
What gardens of the gods aglow
Were tended with thy care
Before this summer land could know
Thy spirit in the air?
 
Thou siren near the silvery shore
Of verdant flowery lands
The gods bend down to love thee more--
To kiss thy dimpled hands!
 
On rugged Sierra Madra's crest
The tall dark pines are sighing
That they might clasp thy virgin breast
Where moonbeams find thee lying.
 
And on the hardened ocean beach
The waves are laughing, foaming--
Then ever strive to nearer reach
Where thou art, ever roaming.
 
The orange trees stretch out their arms
With golden profferings laden
And nodding flowers bend low their charms
To worship such a maiden.