The Meeting of Mireya and Andresillodetails

The well was old, with ivy overrun,—

A watering-place for flocks; and from the sun

Scarce by it sheltered sat a little boy,

With basket-full of small white snails for toy.

With his brown hands, he one by one withdrew them,

The tiny harvest-snails; and then sang to them,—

“Snaily, snaily, little nun,

Come out of the cell, come int the sun!

Show me your horns without delay,

Or I’ll tear your convent-walls away.”