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Tho roses may blow in London
Or border the winding Seine
Or deck the gardens of Florence
And gladden the fields of Spain
They never may grow
More fair I know
Than the rose of the Joaquin plain.

On the eastern side of the valley
The dark Sierras rise
To throw the jags of their snow crags
Athwart the sunlit skies
But the orange grows
Ad there the rose
Where the old, old valley lies.

And some are rich as the rich red blood
And some are red but bright
While side by side in the moonlight
Bend the yellow and the white
For the rose of
This wound'rous valley
Is the travellers delight.

Far famed is the rose of Sharon
And the rose of bonny Clyde
While bards have sung since the world was young
Of the rose on Shannon's side
But none may blow
More fair I know
Than the Joaquin Valley's pride

 O. E. Enfield

Submitted by: Ellis County Historical Society
Enfield family members  Copyright 2004
All Rights Reserved.

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