Southward

Forbidden Mexico

Four hundred yards away-

A drunken, tawny beast-

Slept across the southward path.

"There shall no soldier go,"

The order was, "beyond

The murky middle of the stream."

Forbidden Mexico !-

Its drifting slopes

Slid back into sun-hid distance.

Its tawny skin, sleek

With clean aridity,

Lay unpunctured by man's growth.

Four hundred yards away-

A thousand years could sink

Into the gap between this river-bank and that.