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IN FRENCH FIELDS.
191
TO PÉPA.
Pépa, when the night has come,
And mamma has bid 'Good-night,'
By thy light, half-clad and dumb,
As thou kneelest, out of sight;
Laid by cap and sweeping vest,
Ere thou sinkest to repose,
At the hour when half at rest,
Folds thy soul as folds a rose;
When sweet Sleep, the sovereign mild,
Peace to all the house has brought,
Pépita, my charming child,
What, oh, what is then thy thought?
Who knows! Haply dreamest thou
Of some lady doomed to sigh;
All that Hope a truth deems now,
All that Truth shall prove—a lie.
