THE LADY
Pan made it long ago in Arcady.
PIERROT
I heard it long ago, I know not where,
As I knew thee, or ever I came here.
But I forget all things—my name and race,
All that I ever knew except thy face.
Who art thou, lady? Breathe a name to me,
That I may tell it like a rosary.
Thou, whom I sought, dear Dryad of the trees,
How art thou designate—art thou Heart's-Ease?
THE LADY
Waste not the night in idle questioning,
Since Love departs at dawn's awakening.
PIERROT
Nay, thou art right; what recks thy name or state,
Since thou art lovely and compassionate.
Play out thy will on me: I am thy lyre.
THE LADY
I am to each the face of his desire.
PIERROT
I am not Pierrot, but Venus' dove,
Who craves a refuge on the breast of love.
THE LADY
What wouldst thou of the maiden of the moon?
Until the cock crow I may grant thy boon.
PIERROT
Then, sweet Moon Maiden, in some magic car,
Wrought wondrously of many a homeless star—
Such must attend thy journeys through the skies,—
Drawn by a team of milk-white butterflies,
Whom, with soft voice and music of thy maids,
Thou urgest gently through the heavenly glades;
Mount me beside thee, bear me far away
From the low regions of the solar day;
Over the rainbow, up into the moon,
Where is thy palace and thine opal throne;
There on thy bosom—
THE LADY
Too ambitious boy!
I did but promise thee one hour of joy.
This tour thou plannest, with a heart so light,
Could hardly be completed in a night.
Hast thou no craving less remote than this?
PIERROT
Would it be impudent to beg a kiss?