"My sister hath a silver voice and mellow,—
I love to hear her sing the Peirounello,—
But, ah! my sweet young lady, every word
Thou'st given me my spirit more hath stirred,
My ear more thrilled, my very heart-strings wrung,
More than a thousand songs divinely sung!
"With roaming all the pastures in the sun,
My little sister's face and neck are dun
As dates; but thou, most fair one, I think well,
Art fashioned like the flowers of Asphodel,
So the bold Summer with his tawny hand
Dare not caress thy forehead white and bland.
"Moreover, Vinceneto is more slim
Than dragon-flies that o'er the brooklet skim.
Poor child! In one year grew she up to this;
But verily in thy shape is naught amiss."
Again Mirèio, turning rosy red,
Let fall her branch, and "What a Vincen!" said.
Sing, magnarello, merrily.
The green leaves ever piling!
Two comely children sit on high,
Amid the foliage, smiling.
Sing, magnarello, loud and oft:
Your merry labor hasten.
The guileless pair who laugh aloft
Are learning love's first lesson.
Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/56
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30
MIRÈIO.
[Canto II.
