In Mexico

Evaleen Stein (1863–1923)

THE CACTUS towers, straight and tall,

Through fallow fields of chapparal;

And here and there, in paths apart,

A dusky peon guides his cart,

And yokes of oxen journey slow,

In Mexico.

And oft some distant tinkling tells

Of muleteers, with wagon bells

That jangle sweet across the maize,

And green agave stalks that raise

Rich spires of blossoms, row on row,

In Mexico.

Upon the whitened city walls

The golden sunshine softly falls,

On archways set with orange trees,

On paven courts and balconies

Where trailing vines toss to and fro,

In Mexico.

And patient little donkeys fare

With laden saddle-bags, and bear

Through narrow ways quaint water-jars

Wreathed round with waxen lily stars

And scarlet poppy-buds that blow,

In Mexico.

When twilight falls, more near and clear

The tender southern skies appear,

And down green slopes of blooming limes

Come cascades of cathedral chimes;

And prayerful figures worship low,

In Mexico.

A land of lutes and witching tones,

Of silver, onyx, opal stones;

A lazy land, wherein all seems

Enchanted into endless dreams;

And never any need they know,

In Mexico,

Of life’s unquiet, swift advance;

But slipped into such gracious trance,

The restless world speeds on, unfelt,

Unheeded, as by those who dwelt

In olden ages, long ago,

In Mexico.