Page:My Japanese Wife.djvu/196

182 And pipe the nightingale and dove, And plash the fountain’s silver spray.

What shall I bring to thee, my own? Visions of heaven’s mansions fair; Never had king a truer throne Than my heart’s casket rich and rare.” “Sing on, little Mousmé; there are other verses of your little love-song,” I say.

But she is tired, and, unconsciously like a European prima donna, only sings the last two lines over again—

“True, Mousmé, true,” I say, half to myself, as the song loses itself in the air. But she catches the words, and smiles.

The wet season is coming on, alas! before I can leave, and our evenings beneath the verandah will be less frequent. It is not nearly so pleasant indoors, but the