Poetry Archives

In the still, dark shade of the palace wall,
      Where the peacocks strut,
Where the queen may have heard my madrigal,
      Together we sat.

My sombrero hid the fire in my eyes,
      And shaded her own:
This serge cloak stifled her sweet little cries,
      When I kissed her mouth!

The pale olive trees on the distant plain,
      The jagged blue rocks,
The vaporous sea-like mountain chain,
      Dropped into the night.

We saw the lights in the palace flare;
      The musicians played:
The red guards slashed and sabred the stair,
      And cursed the old king.

In the long black shade of the palace wall,
      We sat the night through;
Under my cloak—but I cannot tell all—
      The queen may have seen!