Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/118

92 Of nights he passed beneath the open heaven; Of bites the farmers' dogs his legs had given, And show his soars. And then the maid told o'er Her tasks of that day and the day before; And what her parents said; and how the goat With trellis-flowers had filled his greedy throat.

Once only—Vincen knew not what he did; But, stealthy as a wild-cat, he had slid Along the grasses of the barren moor, And prostrate lay his darling's feet before. Then—soft, my lips, because the trees can hear— He said, "Give me one kiss, Mirèio dear!

"I cannot eat nor drink," he made his moan, "For the great love I bear you! Yes, mine own, Your breath the life out of my blood has taken. Go not, Mirèio! Leave me not forsaken! From dawn to dawn, at least, let a true lover Kneel, and your garment's hem with kisses cover!"

"Why, Vincen," said Mirèio, "that were sin! Then would the black-cap and the penduline$3$ Tell everywhere the secret they had heard!" "No fear of that! for every tell-tale bird I 'd banish from La Crau to Arles," said he; "For you, Mirèio, are as heaven to me!