The cry of Azatlan! Azatlan! And
Warmer, truer, brighter grew the human
Love of Quetzal’. He saw them reach a lake;
As dew its waves were clear; like lover’s breath
The wind flew o’er it. ’Twas in the clime of
Starry nights,—the clime of orange-groves and
Plumy palms.
Then Quetzal’ from his watching
Rose. Aside he flung his sunly symbols.
Like a falling star, from the Vale of Gods