The Demoiselles Of Sunny France Have Gaiety And Grace; Britannia'S Maids A Tender Glance, A Sweet And Gentle Face; Columbia'S Virgins Bring To Knee Full Many A Duke And Earl; But There Is None Can Equal Thee, My Own Canadian Girl. Thy Hair Is Finer Than The Floss That Tufts The Ears Of Corn; Its Tresses Have A Silken Gloss, A Glory Like The Morn; I Prize The Rich, Luxuriant Mass, And Each Endearing Curl A Special Grace And Beauty Has, My Own Canadian Girl. Thy Brow Is Like The Silver Moon That Sails In Summer Skies, The Mirror Of A Mind Immune From Care, Serene And Wise, Thy Nose Is Sculptured Ivory; Thine Ears Are Lobes Of Pearl; Thy Lips Are Corals From The Sea, My Own Canadian Girl. Thine Eyes Are Limpid Pools Of Light, The Windows Of Thy Soul; The Stars Are Not So Clear And Bright That Shine Around The Pole. The Crimson Banners Of Thy Cheeks To Sun And Wind Unfurl; Thy Tongue Makes Music When It Speaks, My Own Canadian Girl. God Keep Thee Fair And Bright And Good As In Thy Morning Hour, And Make Thy Gracious Womanhood A Still Unfolding Flow'R. And Stay Thy Thoughts From Trifles Vain, Thy Feet From Folly'S Whirl, And Guard Thy Life From Every Stain, My Own Canadian Girl!