She loved me once, did Columbine.
It sets my dusty heart aglow
Merely to lie and dream how fine
Her semblance was,—Here lies Pierrot!
Her perfumed presence, silks and lace,
Did madden men and wrought them woe;
For me alone her witching grace.
Where is she now? Here lies Pierrot.
We two walked once beneath the moon—
Yellow it hung, and large and low—