I loved you for the way you sighed; The way you said, "I love but you;" The smile with which your lips replied; Your lips, that from my bosom drew The soul; your looks, like undenied Caresses, that seemed naught but true: I loved you for the violet scent That clung about you as a flower; Your moods, where grief and gladness blent, An April-tide of sun and shower; You were my creed, my testament, Wherein I met with God's high power. Was it because the loving see Only what they desire shall be There in the well-belovéd's soul, Passion and heart's affinity, That I beheld in you the whole Of my love's image? and believed You loved as I loved? nor perceived Yours was a mask, a mockery! Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine, That night of love, when last we met, You have forgotten, Geraldine-- I never dreamed you would forget. AT THE CORREGIDOR'S _The young advocate Don Sebastian Lopez, between three pinches of snuff, lays the facts of the case before his friend, Don Emanuel de Cordova, chief magistrate of the City of Valladolid._ To Don Odora said Donna De Vine, "I yield to thy long endeavor!-- At my balcony be on the stroke of nine, And, Señor, I'm thine forever!"... This beauty at first had the Don descried As she quit the confessional: followed: "What a face! what a form! what a foot!" he sighed, And more that he, smiling, swallowed. And with vows as soft as his oaths were sweet Her heart he barricaded; And pressed this point with a present meet, And that point serenaded. What else could the enemy do but yield To such handsome importuning? A gallant blade with a lute for shield All night at her lattice mooning! "_Que es estrella!_ thou star of all girls! Here's that for thy fierce duenna: A purse of pistoles and a rosary o' pearls, And gold as yellow as henna. "She will drop from thy balcony's rail, my sweet, My seraph! this silken ladder: And then--sweet then!--my soul at thy feet, What angel in Heaven gladder!" And the end of it was--But I will not say How he won to the room of the lady.-- Ah! to love is to live! and with youth--why, hey! For the rest,--a maravedi! Now comes her betrothed from the wars; and he, A Count of the Court Castilian, A Don Diabolus! sword at knee, And face and hair--vermilion. And his is a jealous love; and--for The story grows sadder and sadder-- He watches, and sees--a robber? to her, Or gallant? ascend a ladder. So he pushes inquiry into her room; With his naked sword demanding: An alguazil, with a face like doom, Sure of a stout withstanding.