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Whistling on the hill

I saw her near a laurel bush, she was herding her white ewes.
When I asked how she had got such a fresh skin, she said
it is the tumbling in the dew that makes shepherdesses pretty.
But when I said I'd like to tumble in it with her too,
she said
 
She said I should go and whistle high upon the hill,
wait for her there with a small bunch of eglantine.
I picked the flowers and whistled my lungs out.
I waited and waited but she never came.
 
One day during the village fair I whispered to her
that I would like to be an apple hanging from a tree
so that she could take a bite each time she came by.
But she walked on by and her nice teeth showed
as she said
 
She said I should go and whistle high upon the hill,
wait for her there with a small bunch of eglantine.
I picked the flowers and whistled my lungs out.
I waited and waited but she never came.
 
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Siffler sur la colline

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