The Lady.
Then come with me! below this pleasant shrine
Of Venus we will presently recline,
Until birds' twitter beckon me away
To my own home, beyond the milky-way.
I will instruct thee, for I deem as yet
Of Love thou knowest but the alphabet.
Pierrot.
In its sweet grammar I shall grow most wise,
If all its rules be written in thine eyes.
[The Lady sits upon a step of the temple, and Pierrot leans upon his elbow at her feet, regarding her.]
Sweet contemplation! how my senses yearn to be thy scholar always, always learn.
Hold not so high from me thy radiant mouth,
Fragrant with all the spices of the South;
Nor turn, O sweet! thy golden face away,
For with it goes the light of all my day.
Let me peruse it, till I know by rote
Each line of it, like music, note by note;
Raise thy long lashes, Lady; smile again:
These studies profit me.
[Takes her hand.]
The Lady.
Refrain, refrain!
Pierrot [with passion].