The truculent South is hot and dank

And treacherous, too, as her spotted snake,

That winds its coils on the steaming bank,
Or darts it length in the poisoned brake.

The North land sweet! the North land strong !

Has hair of gold and eyes of blue,
And deep and long as a sinewed song,

Is tender, loving, and brave and true.

Ah, here in the North the hands are trained
To wield the spear, or the plow, or pen ;

And courage and beauty and truth are gained,
And the white world suckles her brainy men.

The poisoned day is forever lost

In the places north where the snow wreaths cling-
In the places ruled by old King Frost

For old King Frost is a splendid king.

And soon from out of a glowing mouth,
With scented rush and a gleam and glow,

The spring will leap from the throbbing south,
And fall on the pulseless zone of snow.