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Title: The Toreador's Serenade, Rondalla
Author: Theophile Gautier [
More Titles by Gautier]
Child with airs imperial,
Dove with falcon's eyes for me
Whom thou hatest,--come I shall
Underneath thy balcony!
There, my foot upon the stone,
I shall twang my chords with grace,
Till thy window-pane hath shone
With thy lamplight and thy face.
Let no lad with his guitar
Strum adown the bordering ways.
Mine the road to watch and bar,
Mine alone to sing thy praise.
Let the first my courage brave.
He shall lose his ears, egad!
Who shall howl his love and rave
In a couplet good or bad.
Restless doth my dagger lie.
Come! who'll venture its rebuff?
Who would wear for every sigh
Blood's red flower upon his ruff?
Blood grows weary of its veins;
For it yearns to be displayed.
Night is ominous with rains.
Haste, ye cowards, back to shade!
On, thou braggart, else aroint!
Well thy forearm cover thou.
On! and with my dagger's point
Let me write upon thy brow.
Let them come, alone, in mass:
Firm of foot I bide my place.
For thy glory, as they pass,
Would I slit each paltry face.
O'er the gutter ere thy clear,
Snowy feet shall be defiled,
By the Rood! a bridge I'll rear
With the bones of gallants wild.
I would slay, thy love to wear,
Any foe, yea, even proud
Satan's very self to dare,
So thy sheets became my shroud.
Sightless window, deafened door!
Wilt thou never heed my sounds?
Like a wounded bull I roar,
Maddening the baying hounds.
Drive at least a poor nail then,
Where my heart may hang inert.
For I want it not again,
With its madness and its hurt!
[The end]
Theophile Gautier's poem: Toreador's Serenade, Rondalla
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