A man remembers a woman whose copper-toned forearms reminded him of an Aztec sunset and were, he told her once, finer than bronze. That praise made her glad. The mood darkens when he recalls asking about the scar on her third finger—the worn-gold mark left by a man’s ring. The answer comes not in words but in tears, a journey west, a home-going, a sense of something ended. Now the speaker calls out for her to come back before the days grow longer. The poem carries a tender, regretful longing. It is not simply desire for a beautiful woman, but a wish to undo loss and recover what slipped away. The intimate visual details—copper skin, bronze-like arms, the ring’s scar—keep the feeling grounded, while the final call makes the longing feel urgent and unresolved.
Aztec — Summary
You came from the Aztecs With a copper on your fore-arms Tawnier than a sunset Saying good-by to an even river. And I said, you remember, Those fore-arms of yours Were finer than bronzes And you were glad. It was tears And a path west and a home-going when I asked Why there were scars of worn gold Where a man's ring was fixed once On your third finger. And I call you To come back before the days are longer.