It is blood on the rose
And a sliver of steel.




In Old Madrid.

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.




The Duel.

Ten paces--one, two, three, and fire!
Two gallants have their heart's desire.

One of them dies, the other laughs;
The seconds smile, the doctor chaffs.

A woman, smiling, dreams she's wed