Victoria

Where the traveller looks from Saanich, Fair is the sight he sees, A gracious imperial city Guarding the gates of the seas, With a robe of golden English broom Spreading about her knees.

Lovely, with old-world leisure Gracing her modest state, In youthful pride of dominion She sits by the Western gate, Watching the liners come and go Through Juan de Fuca Strait.

She is crowned with ivy and laurel Fresh with an ageless spring; Tales of the East and news of the North Her sheltered sea-lanes bring; And all her beauteous days go by, Soft as a gray gull's wing.

Child of the strong adventure, Bred to the clean and fine, With touch of the velvet tropics And eyes with the Northern shine, Never to be forgotten— Last of the Sea-Kings' line.