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Poem by 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.



Sara Teasdale


Sara Teasdale's other poems:
  1. Song at Capri
  2. Primavera Mia
  3. After Parting
  4. Debt
  5. Barter


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Samuel Coleridge The Rose ("As late each flower that sweetest blows")
  • Robert Southey The Rose ("Nay EDITH! spare the rose!--it lives--it lives")
  • William Cowper The Rose ("The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower")
  • Richard Lovelace The Rose ("Sweet serene skye-like Flower")
  • William Browne The Rose ("A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the North")
  • Isabella Crawford The Rose ("The Rose was given to man for this")

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