Pierrot Poem by Adelaide Crapsey

For Aubrey Beardsley's picture

Pierrot is dying:
Tiptoe in,
Finger touched to lip,
Harlequin,
Columbine and Clown.

Hugh! how still he lies
In his bed,
White slipped hand and white
Sunker head.
Oh, poor Pierrot.

There's his dressing gown
Across the chair,
Slippers in the floor. . .
Can he hear
Us who tiptoe in?

Pillowed high he lies
In his bed;
Listen Columbine.
'He is dead.'
Oh, poor Pierrot.