BOUCHE-MIGNONNE.
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Bouche-Mignonne
liv’d in the mill,
Past the vineyards shady;
Where the sun shone on a rill
Jewell’d like a lady.
Proud the stream with lily-bud,
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Gay
with glancing swallow;
Swift its trillion-footed flood,
Winding ways to follow.
Coy and still when flying wheel
Rested from its labour;
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Singing
when it ground the meal
Gay as lute or tabor.
“Bouche-Mignonne” it called, when, red
In the dawn were glowing,
Eaves and mill-wheel, “leave thy bed,
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“Hark
to me a-flowing!” [Page 114]
Bouche-Mignonne awoke and quick
Glossy tresses braided;
Curious sunbeams cluster’d thick
Vines her casement shaded.
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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,
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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—
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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
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“Sets
the wheel a-birring.”
Bouche-Mignonne her distaff plies
Where the willows shiver,
Round the mossy mill-wheel flies;
Dragon flies a quiver—
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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
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(Pouf!
their simple fancies!)
In the willow shadows dim [Page 115]
Take her eyes for pansies!
Buzzing comes a velvet bee
Sagely it supposes
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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
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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!”
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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
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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,
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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
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Nightingales
are fluting
Soft the wind as rust’ling silk
On a courtly lady, [Page
116]
Tinkles down the flowing milk
Huge and still and shady—
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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
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“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,
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“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
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| “’Gainst
thy maiden bower!” [Page 117] |
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