Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/66

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"Now may God shut me out of Paradiso,
Vincen, if I have ever told you lies!
Go to! I love you! Will that kill you, friend?
But if you will ha cruel, and so send
Me from your aide, 'tis I who will fall ill,
And at your feet lie low till sorrow kill!"

"No more! no more!" cried Vincen, desperately:
"There is a gulf 'twixt thee and me! The stately
Queen of the Lotus Farm art thou, and all
Bow at thy coming, hasten to thy call,
While I a vagrant weaver, only wander,
Plying my trade from Valabrègo yonder."

"What care I?" cried the fiery girl at once.
Sharp as a sheaf-binder's came her response.
"May not my lover, then, a baron be,
Or eke a weaver, if he pleases me?
But if you will not have me pine away,
Why look so handsome, even in rags, I say?"

He turned and faced her. Ah, she was enchanting!
And as a charmèd bird falls dizzy, panting,
So he. "Mirèio, thou 'rt a sorceress!
Else were I not so dazzled by thy face.
Thy voice, too, mounts into this head of mine,
And makes me like a man o'ercome with wine."