Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/63

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But still her eyes are downcast,—the poor dear!
Nor can she look at her deliverer
For a brief space. But then a smile ensues,
And the tears vanish, as the morning dews
That drench the flowers and grass at break of day
Roll into little pearls and pass away.

And then there came a fresh catastrophe:
The branch whereon they sat so cosily
Snapped, broke asunder, and with ringing shriek
Mirèio flung her arms round Vincen's neck,
And he clasped hers, and they whirled suddenly
Down through the leaves upon the supple rye.

Listen, wind of the Greek,⁷ wind of the sea,
And shake no more the verdant canopy!
Hush for one moment, O thou childish breeze!
Breathe soft and whisper low, beholding these!
Give them a little time to dream of bliss,—
To dream at least, in such a world as this!

Thou too, swift streamlet of the prattling voice,
Peace, prithee! In this hour, make little noise
Among the vocal pebbles of thy bed!
Ay, little noise! Because two souls have sped
To one bright region. Leave them there, to roam
Over the starry heights,—their proper home!