Hark! a swirling raven settles with a flap of twisted wings;
And I seem to feel about us many crawling, creeping things!
We have fallen, Pedro mio! Hark the raging of the gale!
And the Yellow Snake is hissing by the old Mohave trail!
I am dying, Pedro mio! and I fain would go to sleep.
Faugh! the raven ’lights upon me! and the frightened lizards creep
With a rush of tiny claws across my swollen lips! and swift
O’er my breast, a burning blanket, rushing sand-waves eager drift;
We are dying, Pedro mio! in the awful desert gale!
And the Yellow Snake is hissing by the old Mohave trail!