San Diego

"O for a beaker of the warm South;
The true, the blushful hypocrine!"

  What shall be said of the sun-born Pueblo?
This town sudden born in the path of the sun?
This town of St. James, of the calm San Diego,
As suddenly born as if shot from a gun?

  Why, speak of her warmly; why, write her
          name down
As softer than sunlight, as warmer than wine!
Why speak of her bravely; this ultimate town
With feet in the foam of the vast Argentine:

  The vast argent seas of the Aztec, of Cortez!
The boundless white border of battle-torn lands
The fall of Napoleon, the rise of red Juarez--
The footfalls of nations are heard on her sands.