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| IN the Santa Clara Valley, far away and far away, | |
| Cool-breathed waters dip and dally, linger towards another day— | |
| Far and far away—far away. | |
| Slow their floating step, but tireless, terraced down the great Plateau. | |
| Towards our ways of steam and wireless, silver-paced the brook-beds go. | 5 |
| Past the ladder-walled Pueblos, past the orchards, pear and quince, | |
| Where the back-locked river’s ebb flows, miles and miles the valley glints, | |
| Shining backwards, singing downwards, towards horizons blue and bay. | |
| All the roofs the roads ensconce so dream of visions far away— | |
| Santa Cruz and Ildefonso, Santa Clara, Santa Fé. | 10 |
| Ancient, sacred fears and faiths, ancient, sacred faiths and fears— | |
| Some were real, some were wraiths—Indian, Franciscan years, | |
| Built the Khivas, swung the bells; while the wind sang plain and free, | |
| “Turn your eyes from visioned hells!—look as far as you can see! | |
| In the Santa Clara Valley, far away and far away, | 15 |
| Dying dreams divide and dally, crystal-terraced waters sally— | |
| Linger towards another day, far and far away—far away. | |
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| As you follow where you find them, up along the high Plateau, | |
| In the hollows left behind them Spanish chapels fade below— | |
| Shaded court and low corrals. In the vale the goat-herd browses. | 20 |
| Hollyhocks are seneschals by the little buff-walled houses. | |
| Over grassy swale and alley have you ever seen it so— | |
| Up the Santa Clara Valley, riding on the Great Plateau? | |
| Past the ladder-walled Pueblos, past the orchards, pear and quince, | |
| Where the trenchèd waters’ ebb flows, miles and miles the valley glints, | 25 |
| Shining backwards, singing downwards towards horizons blue and bay. | |
| All the haunts the bluffs ensconce so breathe of visions far away, | |
| As you ride near Ildefonso back again to Santa Fé. | |
| Pecos, mellow with the years, tall-walled Taos—who can know | |
| Half the storied faiths and fears haunting green New Mexico? | 30 |
| Only from her open places down arroyos blue and bay, | |
| One wild grace of many graces dallies towards another day. | |
| Where her yellow tufa crumbles, something stars and grasses know, | |
| Something true, that crowns and humbles, shimmers from the Great Plateau: | |
| Blows where cool-paced waters dally from the stillness of Puyé, | 35 |
| Down the Santa Clara Valley through the world from far away— | |
| Far and far away—far away. | |
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