C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

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 a 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 the lisp of the South,

Fit for a rose’s small mouth,—

Pepita!