" LITTLE BO-PEEP has lost her sheep, "
And some one or other's lost little Bo-peep —
Or she 'd never be wand'ring at twelve o'clock
With a golden crook and a velvet frock,
In a diamond necklace, in such a rout, —
In diamond buckles and high heel'd shoes
(And a dainty wee foot in them, too, if you choose,
And an ankle a sculptor might rave about . . . .)
But I think she 's a little witch, you know,
With her broomstick-crook and her high-heel'd shoe
And the mischievous fun that flashes thro'
The wreaths of her amber hair — don't you?
No wonder the flock follows little Bo-peep, —
Such a shepherd would turn all the world into sheep,
To trot at her heels and look up in the face
Of their pastor for — goodness knows what, say for grace? —
Her face that recalls in its reds and its blues,
And its setting of gold, " Esmeralda " by Greuze.

There you 've Little Bo-peep, dress, diamonds, and all,
As I met her last night at the Fancy Ball.