Sara Teasdale

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.