From Mexico, where people drink
Wild wine, the brew of shame,
Came Juan to California, where
The people do the same.


Quong, who (unlike your father's friend)
Was not a Buddhist monk,
As Chinese pirate spoiled the ships
And filled his junk with junk.


But when they came to Sheila's house,
Those wild, marauding three,
They felt her softening touch and grew
Quite as polite as she.

Red Bison climbed to Sheila's house,
As Goats that scale an Alp,
But though he much admired her hair
He did not take her scalp.

And Juan, he murdered nobody
For days and days; and Quong
Found out, with tears, that he belonged
To Mr. Matier's tong.

" For oh," they cried, " we come in peace
To walk the sunset strand
Far from that bleak but boiling sea
That breaks on eastern land.

" That swings and sways with dizzy tides
Since first the ocean drank
Atlantis to the dregs, and left
A whirlpool where she sank.

" Of storms, armadas, Vikings, tars,
That make the tides terrific.
But Sheila need not shrink from us,
For we are all Pacific."