Se ama de pie, en las calles, entre el polvo
De los salones y las plazas; muere
La flor el día en que nace. Aquella virgen
Trémula que antes a la muerte daba
La mano pura que a ignorado mozo;
El goce de temer; aquel salirse
Del pecho el corazón; el inefable
Placer de merecer; el grato susto
De caminar de prisa en derechura
Del hogar de la amada, y a sus puertas
Como un niño feliz romper en llanto;
Y aquel mirar, de nuestro amor al fuego,
Irse tiñendo de color las rosas,
¡Ea, que son patrañas! Pues ¿quién tiene
Tiempo de ser hidalgo? ¡Bien que sienta,
Cual áureo vaso o lienzo suntuoso,
Dama gentil en casa de magnate!
–J.M.
It is an odd poem from that strange and transitional period I like.
Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 
I like the colloquialism of “ea” and “se ama de pie” and the modernity of ‘quien tiene tiempo / de ser hidalgo.” I almost hear an odd anticipation of Vallejo here. Blank verse like this is actually quite rare in Spanish.
True that, about blank verse. You know Lunario sentimental of Lugones, right? That super-late modernismo that anticipates Vallejo, yes.
Yes, Lugones. But Martí died more than 10 years before Lunario was published. What interests me in the text you posted is the colloquialism and versification. Even the more ornate or hifalutin language here seems to be used ironically. I’m really amazed that I didn’t know this kind of writing existed in this time frame.
Yes. Now I want to find out more.
Speaking of Vallejo, I have gotten the chance to peruse Michelle Clayton’s book somewhat. Very good. (And she thinks a lot of the things I think, too, so I am gratified … and it took 12 years to write, or something.)
I’ve seen that book (on your recommendation). It looks good; I read a few parts of some of the chapters.