The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 1/Number 7/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!