And she handed him a flow'ret,
Mountain flower strangely scented,
With white ribbons tied together.
Roderigo smiled in greeting,
Kissed the gaily colored blossoms,
Leaning over till his curls
Lightly touched upon her forehead,
From his lips escaped a question
As the scent escapes from flowers:
—Pretty child, what do they call you?
—Sir, they call me Satanella!
—Satanella? . . . What a strange name
Gallantly the knight retorted,
But full worthy that an angel
Bow before your Godly beauty!
And thereafter, every morning
At the same time, after daybreak,
Dusky, barefoot child would stand there
At the citadel's wide portals. . . .
Thus the knight received each morning
One lone flower, kissed its blossoms—
Thinking perhaps he was kissing
Satanella's lips so tender.
18
