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

40 "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 habe [sic] 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."