The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 1/No. 7/Mercedes
| Mercedes (1858) by |
| Featured in Vol 1., No.7 of The Atlantic Monthly. |
Mercedes
Under a sultry, yellow sky,
On the yellow sand I lie;
The crinkled vapors smite my brain,
I smoulder in a fiery pain.
Above the crags the condor flies;
He knows where the red gold lies,
He knows where the diamonds shine;--
If I knew, would she be mine?
Mercedes in her hammock swings;
In her court a palm-tree flings
Its slender shadow on the ground,
The fountain falls with silver sound.
Her lips are like this cactus cup;
With my hand I crush it up;
I tear its flaming leaves apart;--
Would that I could tear her heart!
Last night a man was at her gate;
In the hedge I lay in wait;
I saw Mercedes meet him there,
By the fire-flies in her hair.
I waited till the break of day,
Then I rose and stole away;
I drove my dagger through the gate;--
Now she knows her lover's fate!
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This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. |
