Poetry Archives

Eleven o’clock:
Here are our cups of chocolate.
Montez will fight the bulls to-day—
All Madrid knows that:
Queen Christina is going in state:
Dolores will go with her little fan!

      Lace up my shoe;
        Put on my Basquina;
      Can you see my black eyes?
        I am Manuel’s duchess.

In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke
Dolores sits, flirting her fan;
The church of St. Agnes stands on the right,
And its shadow falls on the picadors;
On their lean steeds they prance in the ring,
Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips.

        “Ha! Toro! Toro!”
      Hoh! the horses are gored;
      Now for the men.
        “Ha! Toro! Toro!”
      Every man over the barrier!

Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands;
Some little applause from the royal box,
And “Montez! Montez!” from a thousand throats!

The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage,
His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground;
But Montez stands still; his ribbons don’t flutter!
    Saints, what a leap!
His rosette is on the bull’s black horn;
Montez is pale; but his great eye shines
When Dolores cries—”Kisses for Montez!”
    Fie! Manuel’s duchess!

A minute longer the fight is done,
The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off;
Montez twirls a new diamond ring,
And Dolores goes home for chocolate.