Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By ElizabethStoddard

427 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 fireflies in her hair.

I waited till the break of day,

Then I rose and stole away;

But left my dagger in the gate;—

Now she knows her lover’s fate!