Sara Teasedale: The Rose

The Rose

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.