Analysis of By Mons. Fontenelle

Ma petite ame, ma mignonne,
Tu t'en vas donc, má fille, et Dieu scache ou tu vas:
Tu pars seulette, nuë, et tremblotante, helas!
Que deviendra ton humeur folichonne?
Que deviendront tant de jolis ébats?

Poor, little, pretty, fluttering thing,
Must we no longer live together?
And dost thou prune thy trembling wing,
To take thy flight thou know'st not whither?
Thy hum'rous vein, thy pleasing folly,
Lies all neglected, all forgot,
And pensive, wavering melancholy,
Thou dread'st, and hop'st, thou know'st not what.