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.