C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Mercedes

UNDER a sultry yellow sky

On the yellow sand I lie;

The crinkled vapors smite my brain,—

I smolder 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 fireflies in her hair.

I waited till the break of day,

Then I rose and stole away;

But I left my dagger in the gate;—

Now she knows her lover’s fate!