The Rose

by Sara Teasdale

  


Beneath my chamber window Pierrot was singing, singing; I heard his lute the whole night thru Until the east was red. Alas, alas Pierrot, I had no rose for flinging Save one that drank my tears for dew Before its leaves were dead. I found it in the darkness, I kissed it once and threw it, The petals scattered over him, His song was turned to joy; And he will never know, Alas, the one who knew it! The rose was plucked when dusk was dim Beside a laughing boy.


Previous Authors:The River Next Authors:The Rose And The Bee
Copyright 2023-2024 - www.zzdbook.com All Rights Reserved