Little recketh Manuela of the tales of Spring they speak.
When the Summer’s burning solstice on the mountain-harvests glowed,
She had watched a gallant horseman riding down the valley road;
Many times she saw him turning, looking back with parting thrills,
Till amid her tears she lost him, in the shadow of the hills.
Ere the cloudless moons were over, he had passed the Desert’s sand,
Crossed the rushing Colorado and the dark Apachè Land,
And his laden mules were driven, when the time of rains began,
With the traders of Chihuahua, to the Fair of San Juan.
Therefore watches Manuela—therefore lightly doth she start,