Villages strange and lovely I have known, But there is none that will not let me go Except one mountain town in Mexico That is a drowsy sunlit dream of stone. The cobbled streets cling to the hills, the tone Of many evening bells deepens the flow Of peace upon the tiles and towers, that grow As simply gay as mountain flowers have grown. Taxco, your square before the church has stalls With little awnings like a fleet of sail. Beside their earthenware, women with shawls Couch on the crowded ground with wistful hail. Ah, mira Senorita! Could one fail To give one's faith to Taxco when she calls? The road to Taxco is a lovely thing, Fitting itself to clamber and to keep Appointment with small villages. The deep Valley of Ixtla, still and simmering With heat is spent and, like a piece of string, The road binds up mountainous sheaves to leap Down through the passes in a headlong steep And break on Taxco like an upflung wing. Near where the lonely peon drives his ass, In borders blue the morning-glories shine; I think the Virgin came to starlit Mass And stood before the sacrificial wine, All robed in blue, at some forgotten shrine ... She must have trailed her cloak along the grass. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SELF-INTERROGATION by EMILY JANE BRONTE TO - (1) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE SPINNER by CLARA DOTY BATES PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: GERARD DE LAIRESSE by ROBERT BROWNING OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 4 by THOMAS CAMPION |