To Cuernavaca

1)

To Cuernavaca, sweet retreat!
I go there if my spirits fail,
or if I choose to break the thread
and give some respite to my tale.
 
To Cuernavaca, to enjoy
its breezes, momentarily:
pause of release and liberty
at the brief distance of a sigh.
 
Not Town or Country, dale or crest:
quiet, frugal company, or blest
tranquillity and soothing rest.
 
The mode of being’s philosophic,
Warm bower, contemplative hammock:
Cuauhnáhuac! Going to Cuauhnáhuac!
 
(2)
 
Is it like breathing, inwardly?
Can peace be willed to come to me?
And is it fact or fantasy:
why do I wonder, crazily?
 
Enough to know, my sweet retreat,
your airs will cool my temples’ heat:
pause of release and liberty
at the brief distance of a sigh.
 
The soul is cleansed by light and calm
like cordial wine. The magpie’s ditty
trills, and the laurel-bushes hum
 
with birds;  a star is standing proud;
time stands suspended, stopped; a cloud
flies by.  Cuauhnáhuac!  Cowhorn City!