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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 (1860–1916)

UP in her balcony where

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.

Often a glimpse of her face,

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.

I who dwell over the way

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 where the little leaves stir!

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!