i89s3 Sinaloa 



\ constantly pounded by the great surf of the sea. 

 Tidepools abound along the rocky shores; in them 

 a multitude of Httle creatures find place among the 

 pink corallines and other colorful seaweeds. Some- 

 thing of the charm of the place I tried to indicate 

 in a poem written during our stay there. 



Sinaloa 



I dream of gray rocks rising rough and sheer 

 Above the trembling azure of the sea; 

 Of long green lines of waves that listlessly 

 Break in slow foam, then slip away in fear — 

 Or hide themselves in rock-pools, crystal clear. 



I dream of long white paths that from the sea 



Climb the gray Mother Range unwillingly 



Through straggling ranks of palms and pines austere 



To lands of Summer where slow days go by. 



Each as it must, but most reluctantly; 



Of black mantillas that but seem to hide 



Dark eyes undarkened by the darkest night. 



All this my dream — but ever by my side 



Thou with the midnight eyes by love made bright. 



II 



We stand tonight on an enchanted shore; 



The warm, slow pulse of the great Summer Sea 



Rises and falls the night long, ceaselessly. 



Beating its one grand rhythm evermore. 



See where before us the stark moonlight falls 



On Isla Blanca's bare volcanic walls — 



Some shapeless monster breaking from the deep, 



Lashing the waves in rising from his sleep! 



Yonder in open ocean, hand in hand, 



In solemn row, the three Venados stand, 



Vast and impossible in moonbeams white, 



As they were "Flying Islands of the Night." 



C 527 J 



