Emilé

The evening air blows twice as fair when it is kissing her sweet strands of hair to glimpse her rosy cheeks, perchance her eyes any passerby would swoon. Down the street the lamplights flicker on a feeble gesture, half in vain for any light forfeited by the sunset is given to the moon. And where it’s wanted shadow still creeps in Observe! Behind a mule cart sits bundled up in robes and motionless the sweet girl prior mentioned. Horses’ footfalls echo from the sides of shops and disappear as masters drive into some warmer corner of the cold Parisian night As well pedestrians shuffle by at somewhat slower pace and but the smallest turn their gaze upon the pauper woman’s face But none can see, but none can see into this sweet girl’s reverie the chillness in her breath is the only sign she gives Her eyes are closed, and now she flies through darkest depths of mind to happier times one summer evening on a porch beside her lover true When gaze is not transfixed upon the other drinking from the depths of melancholy passion it gorges itself upon the greenest grass like heifers lowing on the hill or bunnies bounding through the field or crickets chirping in the reeded orchestra all similes reveal themselves at twilight to those in love, in elevated sight and minds are read, so no surprise can narrow further catlike eyes when her lover true decides to reveal to her the truth “Upon this eve I have received a letter from the Guard, with intent to draft me into the army as the gears of war are turned you know how much I long to stay within your arms until my dying day but I’ve heard tales of those who tried to flee many try, and none succeed so in a week I’ll board the train the line from Marseilles to Lorraine and write you letters every night until the morn that we shall hold each other tight” And no words formed upon her lips the falling leaves told all but when they kissed tears did form inside their eyes, rolled off, and mingled in their mouths.