THOSE PERILOUS SPANISH EYES.
Joaquin Miller
ome fragrant trees, - Some flower-sown seas
- Where boats go up and down,
- And a sense of rest
- To the tired breast
- In this beauteous Aztec town.
- But the terrible thing in this Aztec town
- That will blow men's rest to the stormiest skies,
- Or whether they journey or they lie down—
- Those perilous Spanish eyes!
- Snow walls without,
- Drawn sharp about
- To prop the sapphire skies!
- Two huge gate posts,
- Snow-white like ghosts—
- Gate posts to paradise!
- But, oh! turn back from the high-walled town!
- There is trouble enough in this world, I surmise,
- Without men riding in regiments down—
- Oh, perilous Spanish eyes!
- MEXICO CITY, 1880.