VIII
TO ROOSEVELT

'Tis only with the Bible or with Walt Whitman's verse,
That you, the mighty hunter, are reached by other men.
You're primitive and modern, you're simple and complex,
A veritable Nirnrod with aught of Washington.

You are the United States;
You are the future foe
Of free America that keeps its Indian blood,
That prays to Jesus Christ, and speaks in Spanish stil
You are a fine example of a strong and haughty race;
You're learned and you're clever; to Tolstoy you're opposed;

And whether taming horses or slaying savage beasts,
You seem an Alexander and Nebuchadnezzar too.
(As madmen today are wont to say,
You're a great professor of energy).

You seem to be persuaded
That life is but combustion,
That progress is eruption,
And where you send the bullet
You bring the future.

The United States are rich, they're powerful and great
(They join the cult of Mammon to that of Hercules),
And when they stir and roar, the very Andes shake...
But our America, which since the ancient times...
Has had Its native poets; which lives on fire and light,
On perfumes and on love; our vast America,
The land of Montezuma, the Inca's mighty realm,
Of Christopher Columbus the fair America,
America the Spanish, the Roman Catholic...

O men of Saxon eyes and fierce, barbaric soul,
This land still lives and dreams, and loves and stirs!
Take care!
The daughter of the Sun, the Spanish land, doth live!

And from the Spanish lion a thousand whelps have sprung!
'Tis need, O Roosevelt, that you be God himself...
Before you hold us fast in your grasping, iron claws.
And though you count on all, one thing is lacking: God!