Good-Bye, Pierrette

Good-bye, Pierrette. The new moon waits Like some shy maiden at the gates Of rose and pearl, to watch us stand This little moment, hand in hand— Nor one red rose its watch abates. The low wind through your garden prates Of one this twilight desolates. Ah, was it this your roses planned? Good-bye, Pierrette. Oh, merriest of little mates, No sadder lover hesitates Beneath this moon in any land; Nor any roses, watchful, bland, Look on a sadder jest of Fate's. Good-bye, Pierrette.