Bouche-Mignonne awoke and quick
Glossy tresses braided;
Curious sunbeams cluster'd thick
Vines her casement shaded.
Deep with leaves and blossoms white
Of the morning glory,
Shaking all their banners bright
From the mill, eaves hoary.
Swallows turn'd glossy throats,
Timorous, uncertain,
When to hear their matin notes,
Peep'd she thro' her curtain,
Shook the mill-stream sweet and clear,
With its silver laughter—
Shook the mill from flooring sere
Up to oaken ratter.
"Bouche-Mignonne" it cried "come down!
"Other flowers are stirring;
"Pierre with fingers strong and brown
"Sets the wheel a-birring."
Bouche-Mignonne her distaff plies
Where the willows shiver,
Round the mossy mill-wheel flies;
Dragon-flies a-quiver—
Flash a-thwart the lily-beds,
Pierce the dry reed's thicket:
Where the yellow sunlight treads
Chants the friendly cricket.
Butterflies about her skim
(Pouf! their simple fancies!)
In the willow shadows dim
Take her eyes for pansies!
Buzzing comes a velvet bee
Sagely it supposes
Those red lips beneath the tree
Are two crimson roses!
Laughs the mill-stream wise and bright
It is not so simple
Knew it, since she first saw light
Ev'ry blush and dimple!
"Bouche-Mignonne" it laughing cries
"Pierre as the bee is silly
"Thinks two morning stars thine eyes—
"And thy neck a lily!"
Bouche-Mignonne when shadows crept
From the vine-dark hollows;
When the mossy mill-wheel slept
Curv'd the airy swallows.
When the lilies clos'd white lids
Over golden fancies—
Homeward drove her goats and kids
Bright the gay moon dances.
With her light and silver feet,
On the mill-stream flowing,
Come a thousand perfumes sweet,
Dewy buds are blowing.
Comes an owl and grely flits
Jewell'd ey'd and hooting—
Past the green tree where she sits
Nightingales are fluting
Soft the wind as rust'ling silk
On a courtly lady,
Tinkles down the flowing milk
Huge and still and shady—
Stands the mill-wheel resting still.
From its loving labor,
Dances on the tireless rill
Gay as lute or tabor!
"Bouche-Mignonne" it laughing cries
"Do not blush and tremble;
"If the night has ears and eyes
"I'll for thee disemble!
"Loud and clear and sweet I'll sing
"Oh my far way straying,
"I will hide the whisper'd thing
"Pierre to thee is saying.
"Bouche-Mignonne, good night, good night!
"Ev'ry silver hour
"I will toss my lilies white
"'Gainst thy maiden bower!"
BESIDE THE SEA.
One time he dream'd beside a sea,
That laid a mane of mimic stars;
In fondling quiet on the knee,
Of one tall, pearl'd, cliff—the bars;
Of golden beaches upward swept,
Pine-scented shadows seaward crept.
The full moon swung her ripen'd sphere
As from a vine; and clouds as small
As vine leaves in the opening year
Kissed the large circle of her ball.
The stars gleamed thro' them as one sees
Thro' vine leaves drift the golden bees.
He dream'd beside this purple sea,
Low sang its tranced voice, and he—
He knew not if the wordless strain
Made prophecy of joy or pain;
He only knew far stretch'd that sea,
He knew its name—Eternity!
A shallop with a rainbow sail,
On the bright pulses of the tide,
Throbb'd airily; a fluting gale
Kiss'd the rich gilding of its side;
By chain of rose and myrtle fast,
A light sail touch'd the slender mast.
"A flower-bright rainbow thing," he said
To one beside him, "far too frail
"To brave dark storms that lurk ahead,
"To dare sharp talons of the gale.
"Belov'd, thou woulds't not forth with me
"In such a bark on such a sea?"
"First tell me of its name?" she bent
Her eyes divine and innocent
On his. He raised his hand above
Its prow, and answ'ring swore, "'Tis Love!"
"Now tell," she ask'd, "how is it built,
Of gold or worthless timber gilt?"