She's all my fancy painted him,
He's all my nevermore.
She's all my sunlight setting bright,
He's all the night in store.
No cutlass wound will mar his face,
No bitter wind will kill,
No hunter's bow will match her pace,
She'll laugh and reach the hill.
Their power and their grace will shine
Like rising sun at morn,
Forever over conquered foes --
To this ideal I'm sworn.