And his speech, softer than the softest breath of a zephyr wafted in a wood, sweet and mysterious, reached my ear.
"I see a maiden," said he, "in the cool shade beneath a cherry tree; the waving branches touch her; the boughs hang thick with cherries.
"The cherries are fully ripe, fragrant, solid, red, and, amid the smooth leaves, make one hungry, and, hanging, tempt one.
"But the cherry tree offers in vain the sweetness and the pleasing color of its bright, firm fruit, red as coral.
"She sighs, trying to see if she can jump high enough to pluck them. Would that my lover might come! He would climb up, and throw them down into my apron."
So I say to the reapers: "Reapers, leave behind you a little corner uncut, where, during the summer, the prègo-diéu may have shelter."
II
This autumn, going down a sunken road, I wandered off across the fields, lost in earthly thoughts.
And, once more, amid the stubble, I saw, clinging to a tiny ear of grain, folded up in his double wing, the prègo-diéu.