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.