Anita
by Cora Randall Fabbri

A broad green sea the vineyard lay;
He saw her pass along that way,
The fair Anita.

A little kerchief on her head,
A little mouth, so small, so red,
Had gay Anita.

Plaiting the straw and singing sweet,
He saw her with her bare brown feet,
The fair Anita.

“Oh, little joy of Spring,” he said,
And kissed the mouth, so small, so red,
Of gay Anita.

But when the ripened grapes had come,
To stain the vines like purple foam,
(Ah, poor Anita!)

He was not there; she did not sing;
And all the joy hath fled from Spring
For fair Anita.