SONGS OF LA MOUCHE.
The Journey from Havre.
We raced through midsummer weather—
A dust cloud danced in the heat—
Through a country of gardens and orchards
And patches of simmering wheat.
A dust cloud danced in the heat—
Through a country of gardens and orchards
And patches of simmering wheat.
You spoke of the chances that made you
An exile in foreign lands,
Of life and death and hereafter—
But gazed on my slender hands.
An exile in foreign lands,
Of life and death and hereafter—
But gazed on my slender hands.
"Thrones totter and empires crumble,
The times are in a whirl"—
And then your thoughts went wandering
In the tangle of a curl.
The times are in a whirl"—
And then your thoughts went wandering
In the tangle of a curl.
But when it came to parting,
You were dumb, for you dared not speak
A wish that was born of the dimple
That nestles in either cheek.
You were dumb, for you dared not speak
A wish that was born of the dimple
That nestles in either cheek.
The dingy lamplight flickered,
But a silver midsummer moon
Smiled through the dusky branches
On the joy of an unasked boon.
But a silver midsummer moon
Smiled through the dusky branches
On the joy of an unasked boon.
Paris, August, 1847.
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