PIERROT IN HALF-MOURNING.I THAT am Pierrot, pray you pity me!To be so young, so old in misery:See me, and how the winter of my griefWastes me, and how I whiten like a leaf,And how, like a lost child, lost and afraid,I seek the shadow, I that am a shade,I that have loved a moonbeam, nor have wonAny Diana to Endymion.Pity me, for I have but loved too wellThe hope of the too fair impossible.Ah, it is she, she, Columbine: againI see her, and I woo her, and in vain.She lures me with her beckoning finger-tip;How her eyes shine for me, and how her lipsBloom for me, roses, roses, red and rich!She waves to me the white arms of a witchOver the world: I follow, I forgetAll, but she’ll love me yet, she’ll love me yet!
I THAT am Pierrot, pray you pity me!To be so young, so old in misery:See me, and how the winter of my griefWastes me, and how I whiten like a leaf,And how, like a lost child, lost and afraid,I seek the shadow, I that am a shade,I that have loved a moonbeam, nor have wonAny Diana to Endymion.Pity me, for I have but loved too wellThe hope of the too fair impossible.Ah, it is she, she, Columbine: againI see her, and I woo her, and in vain.She lures me with her beckoning finger-tip;How her eyes shine for me, and how her lipsBloom for me, roses, roses, red and rich!She waves to me the white arms of a witchOver the world: I follow, I forgetAll, but she’ll love me yet, she’ll love me yet!