by Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)

The rose
Language: English 
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.

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2008-06-04
Line count: 16
Word count: 90