Senorita

An agate-black, your roguish eyes     Claim no proud lineage of the skies,     No starry blue; but of good earth     The reckless witchery and mirth.     Looped in your raven hair's repose,     A hot aroma, one red rose     Dies; envious of that loveliness,     By being near which its is less.     Twin sea shells, hung with pearls, your ears,     Whose slender rosiness appears     Part of the pearls; whose pallid fire     Binds the attention these inspire.     One slim hand crumples up the lace     About your bosom's swelling grace;     A ruby at your samite throat     Lends the required color note.     The moon bears through the violet night     A pearly urn of chaliced light;     And from your dark-railed balcony     You stoop and wave your fan at me.     O'er orange orchards and the rose     Vague, odorous lips the south wind blows,     Peopling the night with whispers of     Romance and palely passionate love.     The heaven of your balcony     Smiles down two stars, that say to me     More peril than Angelica     Wrought with her beauty in Cathay.     Oh, stoop to me! and, speaking, reach     My soul like song that learned sweet speech     From some dim instrument - who knows? -     Or flower, a dulcimer or rose.