Sudden rain,
Quick again
Smiles where late was thunder?
Are all these
Made to please?
So too is Pepita.
Autumn's prime,
Apple-time,
Smooth cheek round,
Heart all sound?—
Is it this
You would kiss?
Then it is Pepita.
You can bring
No sweet thing,
But my mind
Still shall find
It is my Pepita.
Memory
Says to me
It is she—
She is fair
Past compare
In the land of Tubal.
XIII
PABLO'S SONG FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY
Spring comes hither,
Buds the rose;
Roses wither,
Sweet spring goes.
Ojala, would she carry me!
Summer soars—
Wide-winged day,
White light pours,
Flies away.
Ojala, would he carry me!
Soft winds blow,
Westward born,
Onward go
Toward the morn.
Ojala, would they carry me!
Sweet birds sing
O'er the graves,
Then take wing
O'er the waves.
Ojala, would they carry me!