Page:When the Leaves Come Out (Chaplin 1917).pdf/47

 

O, how I long for you, golden-hued Mexico,
 * Cool of your mountains and mists of your streams!

Breathe I a song for you, flower-starred Mexico
 * Plaintively cruel with joy-tortured dreams.

Love thoughts endure of you, passionate Mexico;
 * Hot in my blood they are quivering yet.

Thrilled with the lure of you, legended Mexico,
 * Those who have seen you can never forget.

O, the bright gleam of you, sun-ravished Mexico,
 * Warm with a wonder divinely your own;

O, how I dream of you, odorous Mexico,
 * How like an exile I wander alone!

Humbly I burn to you, exotic Mexico,
 * Incense of love to your tropical sky.

I shall return to you, glorious Mexico,
 * Blessing my thralldom if only to die.

