Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Pepita
By Frank Dempster Sherman (18601916)U
Vines through the lattices run
Spilling a scent on the air,
Setting a screen to the sun,
Fair as the morning is fair,
Sweet as a blossom is sweet,
Dwells in her rosy retreat
Pepita.
When the wind rustles the vine
Parting the leaves for a space,
Gladdens this window of mine;
Pink in its leafy embrace,—
Pink as the roseleaf is pink,
Sweet as a blossom I think
Pepita.
Watch where Pepita is hid
Safe from the glare of the day
Like an eye under its lid:
Over and over I say—
Name like the song of a bird,
Melody shut in a word,—
“Pepita.”
Look,—the green curtains are drawn!
There in a blossomy blur
Breaks a diminutive dawn—
Dawn and the pink face of her,—
Name like a lisp of the South,
Fit for a rose’s small mouth,—
Pepita!