In walking in the garden,

To shun the burning light,

I saw beneath the leafage

A maid of beauty bright.

With noiseless feet I crept

To where the damsel slept.

With noiseless feet I tip-toed

To give her no alarm,

Her head had for a pillow

Her round and rosy arm,

As softly as the air

I kissed her dreaming there.

And while she lay in slumber,

I sought a garden bed,

And on her snowy bosom

I placed a rosebud red.

The flower's breath of balm

Dispelled her slumber's charm.

When slumber's charm had vanished,

She woke with laughing eyes;

Oh, magic love, how charming

To catch hearts by surprise!

To wake them like the dawn,

When spring-time is new-born.

In the bosquet of Pouzange

I meet my faithful loves.

They murmur in the leafage,

Sweet tender-throated doves.

They sing the whole day long,

And love is all their song.

But there is a sadder note which makes itself heard in these songs of love in Poitou, as elsewhere,—the lamentation of the maiden who has listened too fondly to the words of her shepherd lover, and experienced his faithlessness. She must hide at home with her shame, and sadly find that only her dog is faithful.