Classic Poem

A face of pink and nacre! Tiger eyes,
Fringed by long, silken lashes black as jet!
A tortoise-comb high in soft tresses set,
A fan in hand of Oriental dyes,

Screening delicious spheres that fall and rise
Draped in a frail mantilla's gauzy net.
A satin slipper on a foot that vies
With Castile's Queen, and which will quickly fret

When, near the Prado, sounds of castanet
Of some great revelry or dance apprise.
A vague, strange look of passion you surmise,
You catch a pleasant scent like mignonette!
She passes!—while from sensuous lips there flies
The blue smoke of her twisted cigarette!