This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,
Stooped over, in dout, as settling its claim;
Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip,
It’s soft meandering Spanish name:
What a name! Was it love, or praise?
Speech half-asleep or song half-awake
I must learn Spanish, one of these days,
Only for that slow sweet name’s sake.
- Robert Browning (1812-1889)
