SENORITA

An agate-black, your roguish eyes

Claim no proud lineage of the skies,

No starry blue; but of good earth

The reckless witchery and mirth.

Looped in your raven hair's repose,

A hot aroma, one red rose

Dies; envious of that loveliness,

By being near which its is less.

Twin sea shells, hung with pearls, your ears,

Whose slender rosiness appears

Part of the pearls; whose pallid fire

Binds the attention these inspire.

One slim hand crumples up the lace

About your bosom's swelling grace;

A ruby at your samite throat

Lends the required color note.

The moon bears through the violet night

A pearly urn of chaliced light;

And from your dark-railed balcony

You stoop and wave your fan at me.

O'er orange orchards and the rose

Vague, odorous lips the south wind blows,

Peopling the night with whispers of

Romance and palely passionate love.

The heaven of your balcony

Smiles down two stars, that say to me

More peril than Angelica

Wrought with her beauty in Cathay.

Oh, stoop to me! and, speaking, reach

My soul like song that learned sweet speech

From some dim instrument — who knows?—

Or flower, a dulcimer or rose.