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.

1. Swans
2. The Ghost
3. The River
4. November
5. The Song for Colin

Isabella Crawford The Rose ("The Rose was given to man for this")

Print

1270 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version