William Griffith

TURNING a sudden corner,

She reached the trysting place:

The gods, grown weary of the sun,

Put twilight in her face.

Dreams, swift hopes, rising, falling,—

Too soon, too late, too soon—

Were as a tide that rose and fell

At the will of the moon.

Around us was the star-shine:

Like May in flowers clad,

Speaking, she had the voice of brooks

That made the meadows glad.

She spoke of the great wonder

That in her heart was laid

And in her life had come to pass:

Ah, need she be afraid?

The moon, with little vision,

Saw what was going on,

And by designing sorcery

Made me forget Yvonne;

And lose her in this happy,

Inconsequential crowd,

Feeling in silence with Pierrette

What Pierrot sings aloud.