________________________________________________
Title: Bouche-Mignonne
Author: Isabella Valancy Crawford [
More Titles by Crawford]
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,
Gay with glancing swallow;
Swift its trillion-footed flood,
Winding ways to follow.
Coy and still when flying wheel
Rested from its labour;
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,
"Hark to me a-flowing!"
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!"
[The end]
Isabella Valancy Crawford's poem: Bouche-Mignonne
________________________________________________
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
