Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/117

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And she would know who called her, and would fly
Swift, silent, to the mulberry-tree hard by,
With quickened pulses. Fair is the moonlight
Upon narcissus-buds in summer night,
And sweet the rustle of the zephyr borne
In summer eve over the ripening corn,

Until the whole, in infinite undulation,
Seems like a great heart palpitant with passion.
Also the chamois hath a joy most keen
When through the savage Queiras² ravine
All day before the huntsman he hath flown,
And stands at length upon a peak, alone

With larches and with ice fields, looking forth.
But all these joys and charms are little worth,
With the brief rapture of the hours compared—
Ah, brief!—that Vincen and Mirèio shared,
When, by the friendly shadows favorèd,
(Speak low, my lips, for trees can hear, 'tis said,)

Their hands would seek each other and would meet,
And silence fall upon them, while their feet
Played idly with the pebbles in their way.
Until, not knowing better what to say,
The tyro-lover laughingly would tell
Of all the small mishaps that him befell;