Brown slave-girls danced. All Anahuac
Stood, grim with strange obsidian swords,
Around the idol's rock.
And up the temple's winding stair
Of pyramid we wound and went:
The bloomed vanilla drenched the air
With all its tropic scent.
Volcanoes walled us in: and I
Walked, crowned with flaming cactus-flowers,
Beneath the golden, Aztec sky,