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 pa.s.sion_].

I am but studious, so do not stir; Thou art my star, I thine astronomer!

Geometry was founded on thy lip.

[_Kisses her hand._]

THE LADY.

This att.i.tude becomes not scholarship!

Thy zeal I praise; but, prithee, not so fast, Nor leave the rudiments until the last, Science applied is good, but 'twere a schism To study such before the catechism.

Bear thee more modestly, while I submit Some easy problems to confirm thy wit.

PIERROT.

In all humility my mind I pit Against her problems which would test my wit.

THE LADY [_questioning him from a little book bound deliciously in vellum_].

What is Love?

Is it a folly, Is it mirth, or melancholy?

Joys above, Are there many, or not any?

What is love?

PIERROT [_answering in a very humble att.i.tude of scholarship_].

If you please, A most sweet folly!

Full of mirth and melancholy: Both of these!

In its sadness worth all gladness, If you please!

THE LADY.

Prithee where, Goes Love a-hiding?

Is he long in his abiding Anywhere?

Can you bind him when you find him; Prithee, where?

PIERROT.

With spring days Love comes and dallies: Upon the mountains, through the valleys Lie Love's ways.

Then he leaves you and deceives you In spring days.

THE LADY.

Thine answers please me: 'tis thy turn to ask.

To meet thy questioning be now my task.

PIERROT.

Since I know thee, dear Immortal, Is my heart become a blossom, To be worn upon thy bosom.

When thou turn me from this portal, Whither shall I, hapless mortal, Seek love out and win again Heart of me that thou retain?

THE LADY.

In and out the woods and valleys, Circling, soaring like a swallow, Love shall flee and thou shalt follow: Though he stops awhile and dallies, Never shalt thou stay his malice!

Moon-kissed mortals seek in vain To possess their hearts again!

PIERROT.

Tell me, Lady, shall I never Rid me of this grievous burden?

Follow Love and find his guerdon In no maiden whatsoever?

Wilt thou hold my heart for ever?

Rather would I thine forget, In some earthly Pierrette!

THE LADY.

Thus thy fate, what'er thy will is!

Moon-struck child, go seek my traces Vainly in all mortal faces!

In and out among the lilies, Court each rural Amaryllis: Seek the signet of Love's hand In each courtly Corisande!

PIERROT.

Now, verily, sweet maid, of school I tire: These answers are not such as I desire.

THE LADY.

Why art thou sad?

PIERROT.

I dare not tell.