TO God Tezcatlepoca, the "world's soul,"
They offered sacrifices long ago.
One year of all the pleasures man may know
The victim had. Then came the folded scroll,
The world's farewell: the long-expected goal
That block of jasper where they stretched him low,
The flint-edged knife, the measured ripping blow,
The hand that wrenched his heart out through the hole.

My feasting-time is over, and I see
The world receding. Friendship, love, and art,
The singing-women, flowers, revelry,
Have vanished I lie naked, set apart
This is the death-stone. What remains for me?
The grasping fingers that shall tear my heart.