Cry Jacques, Noel or Pierre, when quietude
Comes to the rippling stream, drifting sounds
Of laughter only echoing from the doors
Subdued in harmony.
Peace and goodwill are the master tones
Brooding on the happy evening scene:
The men, seated beneath the café windows,
Talk, jest and laugh, with tinkling glass or mug,
And smoke their red clay pipes, sweet smelling smoke
Of home-cured leaf, rising in pearly clouds:
Whilst women, some still toiling at their lace,
Gossip, the elder matrons of their homes,
Girlhood as all girls will, so why say more?
For Madeleine, the minx, is missing. Where?
Henri, the cobbler's son, has vanished too,
Strong evidence enough for village life.
Suddenly the Curé, going to evensong,
Comes from underneath the shadowed trees,
A pleasant word for all, a cheery smile,
And in return due reverence and faith:
Thus softly the twilight deepens into night,
Boy and girl have, whispering, passed their way
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