A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/In the Orchard (François Coppée)
IN THE ORCHARD.
I saw your doings, naughty little fairy!
This morning, in the field with cherries planted.
You were alone, bare-headed and white-vested;
Hid by the copse I saw you pass the dairy
And wander on, until a branch down-slanted,
Heavy with ripe, ripe fruit your steps arrested.
It was in reach, you plucked the reddest cherries
And put them to your ears, coquette, while breezes
Played lightly with your curls: and then to gather
A corn-flower from the ground, O queen of Peris,
You sat down, gathered one, and then a second,
And then another still. And lo! it pleases
Your whim to fix them in your hair. Then rather
Abashed at what you did, or so I reckoned,
Your arm your forehead, flower-encrowned, shading,
Upon the green grass there you burst in laughter,
And your teeth joyous seemed to dart joy-flashes.
But all this time, my pretty one, invading
Your privacy was a witness. Then and after
Happy to see you happy; and quite able
To keep your secret, so lift up those lashes!
What business had he there? He was comparing
The corn-flowers with your eyes, my pretty Mabel,
And the red cherries with your lips ensnaring.