The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly — 13.1897

Page: 121
DOI issue: DOI Page: Citation link: 
https://digi.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/diglit/yellow_book1897_2/0125
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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 ....

The Yellow Book—Vol. XIII. h .... Too
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