In a little restaurant, Olvera Street

Some queer cognition stirs in a casual glance At this disturbing face -- without a dimple, Without an arch. No delicate curves enhance Its somehow antique pattern, primitive, simple, Smooth in line and plane -- a straight-drawn nose, Straight brows, straight mouth -- an elemental face, Out of an ancient world. The strange girl goes Impassive and silent about his dingy place, Purveying humble people's humble fare, With the air of an acolyte. Old strains must lie Submerged in the mystic deeps of the race somewhere, Hidden, forgotten, yet burgeoning by and by; Here is a priestess sorcery might recall From some old Aztec temp le's sculptured wall.