In Old Madrid
I strolled the streets in quest of any love,
In old Madrid long centuries ago;
I caught the perfume of a scented glove,
I saw a sweet face in a portico.
She laughed—then paled. She leaned out; whispered, “Fly!”
And then I felt the sting of steel, the hiss
Of curses in my ear, and knew that I
Had forfeited my life—and lost a kiss.