Perchance 'tis in some city square,
And the people all follow us there.
Don, donna, slim chulo, padrone,
The very dog runs with his bone;
One half of the square is in the shade,
On the other the red sunset fades;
The fount, as it flings up its jets,
Responds to my brisk castanets;
I wear a red rose at my ear;
And many a whisper I hear:
"If she were a lady, behold,
None other should share my red gold!"
"St. Anthony save us, what eyes!
How gem-like her little foot flies!"
"These dancers should all be forbid
To dance in the streets of Madrid."
"If I were a monarch I'd own
No other to sit on my throne!"
Two scarlet streamers tie my hair;
They burn like red stars on the air;
My dark eyes flash, my clear cheek burns,
My kirtle eddies in swift turns,
My golden necklet tinkles sweet;
Yes, yes, I love the crowded street!
THE CITY TREE.
I stand within the stony, arid town,
I gaze for ever on the narrow street;
I hear for ever passing up and down,
The ceaseless tramp of feet.
I know no brotherhood with far-lock'd woods,
Where branches bourgeon from a kindred sap;
Where o'er moss'd roots, in cool, green solitudes,
Small silver brooklets lap.
No em'rald vines creep wistfully to me,
And lay their tender fingers on my bark;
High may I toss my boughs, yet never see
Dawn's first most glorious spark.
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