A little Girl
Sitting on the grassy grave beneath one of the windows of the church was a little girl. With her head bent back, she was gazing up the sky and singing while one of her little hands was pointing to the tiny cloud that hovered like a golden feather above her head. The sun which suddenly become very bright shining on her glossy hair gave them metallic luster, and it was difficult to say what was the color, dark browns or black. So completely absorbed was she and watching the cloud to which her string song or incantation seemed addressed that she did not observe me when I rose and went towards her. Over her head I up in the blue, a lark that was soaring towards the same gossy cloud was singing as if in a rivalry. As I slowly approached the child I could see by her forehead which in the sunshine seemed like a globe of pearl and especially by her complexion that she was uncommonly lovely. Her eyes which at one moment seemed blue grey and another violet were shaded by long black lashes curving backwards in the most particular way. And this matching hue her eyebrows and tresses that were tossed about her tender throat and quivering in the sunlight. All this I did not take in at once, for at first I could see nothing but those quivering glivering changeful eyes turned up into my face, gradually, the other features especially the sensitive full lip of mouth groop on me as I stood silently gazing. Here seemed to me a more perfect beauty that had ever come to me in my lovely dreams of beauty. Yet it was not her beauty so much as the look she gave me that fascinated me, melted me.
