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. June Night
2. Like Barley Bending
3. Faces
4. Let It Be Forgotten
5. If I Must Go

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

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