Ah, Pierrot, what pale tear doth rest upon thy cheek
And lingers there while thou hast not the tongue to speak
To quell this agony within thy breast that swells
Not either strength to leave nor voice to thy love tell?
Hence thou dost act each night a role that hath no end
To veil thy life without one lover or one friend.
T’would be the love for whom you’ve pined yet been denied
Dost sense not hour , day nor year through which thou hast cried.
Thus as this force continued on in weary grief
Thou garnered not the halting grace it must to leave.
But made thyself a servant silent to her will
And like some mindless fool forever loved her still.
