A little book of tribune verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

I've been at the Springs for a merrisome while—
And oh, need I tell you the rest?—
Why my soul lights mine eyes with an eloquent smile,
As a little bird sings in my breast!
Her face, like the lilies, is modest and fair,
And her orbs with an ecstasy glow,
And cute little bangs straggle out of her hair—
She's a darling young belle from St. Joe.

We met on the foothills—the usual way—
I was hungry and footsore and weak,
But my pangs disappeared like the night before day,
And the hot blushes mantled my cheek.
Ah, it's many a maiden with radiance rare,
I've met in my walks to and fro,
But with never a maid that presumed to compare,
With the beauteous young belle of St. Joe.

I am going to Leadville to print and to write,
With a little bird's song in my breast,
But I'll hie to the Springs every Saturday night
And woo that sweet bird in her nest.
'Neath the glorious stars and the sad visaged moon,
While the zephyrs are whispering low,
I will sit in the soughing and gloaming and spoon—
Oh, I'm mashed on the belle of St. Joe.

(Attributed to) C. C. Davis. August 16th, 1881.