The Holy Time drew near, and yet more near;
At last, it was the morning of the Eve,
All day we swayed from lovely hope to fear.
“‘Too early?’ Nay, ’tis twilight, mother dear—
At least, so very soon the sun will set!”
“Your warmest coats—the air is sharp and clear.
And in your hurry, children, don’t forget
That baby feet tire soon—remember p’tite Annette!”
“No, no! I do not tire, though fast I run!”
Ah, how we laughed to see the red lips pout—