--My goddess ...--Do, mi, sol, la, si. --Abbé, such treason who'll forgive you? --May I die, ladies, if there be A star in heaven I will not give you! --I'd be my lady's lapdog; then ... --Shepherdess, kiss your shepherd soon, Shepherd, come kiss ...--Well, gentlemen? --Do, mi, so.--Hey, good-night, good moon! IV. L'ALLÉE As in the age of shepherd king and queen, Painted and frail amid her nodding bows, Under the sombre branches and between The green and mossy garden-ways she goes, With little mincing airs one keeps to pet A darling and provoking perroquet. Her long-trained robe is blue, the fan she holds With fluent fingers girt with heavy rings, So vaguely hints of vague erotic things That her eye smiles, musing among its folds. --Blonde too, a tiny nose, a rosy mouth, Artful as that sly patch that makes more sly, In her divine unconscious pride of youth, The slightly simpering sparkle of the eye. V. A LA PROMENADE The sky so pale, and the trees, such frail things, Seem as if smiling on our bright array That flits so light and gay upon the way With indolent airs and fluttering as of wings. The fountain wrinkles under a faint wind, And all the sifted sunlight falling through The lime-trees of the shadowy avenue Comes to us blue and shadowy-pale and thinned. Faultlessly fickle, and yet fond enough, With fonds hearts not too tender to be free, We wander whispering deliciously, And every lover leads a lady-love, Whose imperceptible and roguish hand Darts now and then a dainty tap, the lip Revenges on an extreme finger-tip, The tip of the left little finger, and, The deed being so excessive and uncouth, A duly freezing look deals punishment, That in the instant of the act is blent With a shy pity pouting in the mouth. VI. DANS LA GROTTE Stay, let me die, since I am true, For my distress will not delay, And the Hyrcanian tigress ravening for prey Is as a little lamb to you. Yes, here within, cruel Clymène, This steel which in how many wars How many a Cyrus slew, or Scipio, now prepares To end my life and end my pain. But nay, what need of steel have I To haste my passage to the shades? Did not Love pierce my heart, beyond all mortal aids, With the first arrow of your eye? VII. LES INGENUS High heels and long skirts intercepting them, So that, according to the wind or way, An ankle peeped and vanished as in play; And well we loved the malice of the game. Sometimes an insect with its jealous sting Some fair one's whiter neck disquieted, From which the gleams of sudden whiteness shed Met in our eyes a frolic welcoming.