Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/54

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"But when the holly-berries have turned red,
And winter comes, and nights are long," he said,
"And sitting by the dying fire we catch
Whistle or mew of goblin at the latch;
And I must wait till bed-time there with him,
Speaking but seldom, and the room so dim,"—

Broke in the happy girl, unthinkingly,
"Ah! but your mother, Vincen, where is she?"
"Mother is dead." The two were still awhile:
Then be, "But Vinceneto could beguile
The time when she was there. A little thing,
But she could keep the hut."—"I'm wondering—

"You have a sister, Vincen?"—"That have I!
A merry lass and good," was the reply:
"For down at Font-dou-Rèi, in Beaucaire,
Whither she went to glean, she was so fair
And deft at work that all were smitten by her;
And there she stays as servant by desire."

"And you are like her?"—"Now that makes me merry.
Why, she is blonde, and I brown as a berry!
But wouldst thou know whom she is like, the elf?
Why, even like thee, Mirèio, thine own self!
Your two bright heads, with all their wealth of hair
Like myrtle-leaves, would make a perfect pair.