To the Golden Rod
A lissome maid with towseled hair
As soft as e'er a squirrel's vair,
With ne'er a care,
All silky fair,
She sways to ev'ry wooing air.
She flaunts her golden gown with grace
And laughs in sturdy Autumn's face,
A ray of sunshine in the race
That ends with hoary winter's pace -
Within my heart O, maiden fair,
Old Winter's frown can ne'er efface
Thy wayward grace so debonair
Thou princess of a nomad race.
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text),
listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Notes about what "text verified" means can be found here.
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