I shall go no more to his grave,
For the woods are cold.
I shall gather as much of joy
As my hands can hold.
I shall stay all day in the sun
Where the wide winds blow,
But oh, I shall weep at night
When none will know.
Song
O woe is me, my heart is sad,
For I should never know
If Love came by like any lad,
Without his silver bow.
Or if he left his arrows sharp
And came a minstrel weary,
I'd never tell him by his harp
Nor know him for my dearie.
"O go your ways and have no fear,
For tho' Love passes by,
He'll come a hundred times, my dear,
Before your turn to die."
Pierrot
Pierrot stands in the garden
Beneath a waning moon,
And on his lute he fashions
A little silver tune.
Pierrot plays in the garden,
He thinks he plays for me,
But I am quite forgotten
Under the cherry tree.
Pierrot plays in the garden,
And all the roses know
That Pierrot loves his music,
But I love Pierrot.