Explore "When Pierrot Passes" by Theodosia Pickrering Garrison on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
High above his happy head / Little leaves of Spring were spread; / And adown the dewy lawn / Soft as moss the young green grass / Wooed his footsteps, and the dawn / Paused to watch him pass. / Even so he seemed in truth / Dancing between Love and Youth; / And his song as gay a thing / Still before him seemed to go / Light as any bird awing, / Blithe as jonquils in the Spring, / And we laughed and said, "Pierrot, / 'Tis Pierrot."
"Oh," he sang, "Her hands are far / Sweeter than white roses are; / When I hold them to my lips, / Ere I dare a finer bliss, / Petal-like her finger-tips / Tremble 'neath my kiss. / And the mocking of her eyes / Lures me like blue butterflies / Falling -- lifting -- of their grace, / And her mouth -- her mouth is wine." / And we laughed as though her face / Suddenly illumed the place, / And we said, "Tis Columbine, / Columbine."