The Girls of Old Monroe

by Roland E. Ballard

There's a garden 'mid the mountains
   Where the brightest flowers bloom,
Where the balmy southern zephyr
Fills the air with sweet perfume;
But the fairest of the flowers
   Where the balmy breezes blow
Are earth's rarest, fairest maidens––
   The girls of old Monroe.

France may claim with pride her lilies,
   England boast her queenly rose,
Travelers tell of tropic splendor
   Where the fragrant orchid blows;
But the rugged Alleghanies
   Where the gentlest breezes blow
Hold the brightest and the fairest––
   The girls of old Monroe.

You may see the bright stars gleaming
   On a balmy summer night
But a sudden misty shadow
   Seems to dim their brilliant light.
When bright eyes are turned upon you,
   Lit by beauty's radiant glow,
Given alone in matchless splendor
  The girls of old Monroe.

There are dreams of rarest beauty
   Hidden in the artist's mind,
That for ways to give expression
   He may search but may not find.
If he would fulfill his dreaming,
   Of that rare and radiant glow,
He may find that matchless beauty
  'Mong the girls of old Monroe.
           

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