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CHAPTER XII.
MORE ABOUT THE COMMON PEOPLE.
The Silent Aztec Child of the Sun.
silence of dead centuries
That lie entombed on yonder hills
Is his. These dreamful poppy seas
Wave on; and all their languor fills
The land; he lists, as if he heard
God speak through some still gorgeous bird.
His babes about; the golden morn
Strides godlike down the lofty hill:
His wife and daughter grinding corn—
"Two women grinding at a mill."
Oh, mystery! This sun of old
Was god! was god! and ample gold.
His golden hills had flocks of snow,
His valley fields had fat increase.
He saw his white sails fill and blow
By restful isles of flower seas.
The wood-dove sang his ceaseless loves—
His harshest notes this soft wood dove's.
