A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/At the Ford (Joséphin Soulary)
AT THE FORD.
Hid I was behind the birch,
When the ford before thee lay;
Thou wert coming from the church,
Bound upon thy homeward way.
Blue the heavens. No breezes sweet.
Placid was the water's flow.
Shoes were off; thy naked feet
Trod a firmament below.
Smiling mirage, near and far,
Cam'st thou out as of a cloud!
For one instant evening's star
Stayed upon thy forehead proud.
Such a seal and such a sign
Might bedeck an angel's brow!
Wherefore should it light up thine?
Strange doubts haunt me even now.