On his cheek the salt that clings
To the Headland of the Kings,
Flung from the enchanted sea
Of Saint Francis Assisi!
Rover o'er the ocean blue—
What has he to do with you?
Only this: he sailed one day
To your Massachusetts Bay,
And this voyage was his last,
For Love seized and held him fast.
Of that old romance of his
None can tell you more than this;
Saving that, as legacies
To his child, he left his eyes,
Black as the obsidian stone,
With a luster all their own,
Seeing as by magic ken
Deep into the hearts of men.
And mid tides of changing years,
Dreams and hopes and cares and fears,
Life that flows and ebbs alway,
Love has kept them loyally.
Once, it chanced, they came to shine,
Straight into this heart of mine.
Little lady, cease your play
For a moment, if you may;
All I ask is, silently,
Turn your mother's eyes on me!
|Consulado Ingles, Calle de las Olas Altas, Mazatlan, Sinaloa,|
|January 10, 1895.|