The Yellow Book/Volume 13/Pierrot
By Olive Custance
PIERROT . . . . Pierrot . . . . at first they said you slept,
And then they told me you would never wake . . . .
I dared not think . . . . I watched the white day break,
The yellow lamps go out . . . . I have not wept.
But now I kiss your dear cold hands and weep;
Shaken with sobs I cower beside the bed . . . .
At last I realise that you are dead . . . .
Drawn suddenly into the arms of sleep. . . .
Love! . . . you will never look at me again
With those rain-coloured, heavy-lidded eyes,
Closed now for ever . . . .Pierrot, was it wise
To love so madly since we loved in vain?
In vain! in vain! . . . but Pierrot, it was sweet
To stem the stealthy hours with wine and song!. . .
Though death stood up between us stern and strong,
And fate twined nets to trip our dancing feet. . . .
. . . . Too soon, alas! too soon our summer swooned
To bitter winter . . . . and against the lace
Of tossed white pillows lay a reckless face,
With feverish parched mouth like a red wound. . . .
Yet still was our brave love not overthrown,
And I would nestle at your side and see
Your large sad eyes grow passionate for me. . . .
Love! wake and speak . . . . I cannot live alone. . . .
Blue as blue flame is the great sky above . . . .
The earth is wonderful and glad and green;
But shut the sunlight out . . . . for I have seen
Forgetfulness upon the face of love.