Unwitting boy! when, be it soon or late, What Pierrot ever has escaped his fate? What if I warned him! He might yet evade, Through the long windings of this verdant glade; Seek his companions in the blither way, Which, else, must be as lost as yesterday. So might he still pass some unheeding hours In the sweet company of birds and flowers. How fair he is, with red lips formed for joy, As softly curved as those of Venus' boy. Methinks his eyes, beneath their silver sheaves, Rest tranquilly like lilies under leaves. Arrayed in innocence, what touch of grace Reveals the scion of a courtly race? Well, I will warn him, though, I fear, too late-- What Pierrot ever has escaped his fate? But, see, he stirs, new knowledge fires his brain, And cupid's vision bids him wake again. Dione's Daughter! but how fair he is, Would it be wrong to rouse him with a kiss? [_She stoops down and kisses him, then withdraws into the shadow._] PIERROT [_rubbing his eyes_]. Celestial messenger! remain, remain; Or, if a vision, visit me again! What is this light, and whither am I come To sleep beneath the stars so far from home? [_Rises slowly to his feet._] Stay, I remember this is Venus' Grove, And I am hither come to encounter-- THE LADY [_coming forward, but veiled_]. Love! PIERROT [_in ecstasy, throwing himself at her feet_]. Then have I ventured and encountered Love? THE LADY. Not yet, rash boy! and, if thou wouldst be wise, Return unknowing; he is safe who flies. PIERROT. Never, sweet lady, will I leave this place Until I see the wonder of thy face. Goddess or Naiad! lady of this Grove, Made mortal for a night to teach me love, Unveil thyself, although thy beauty be Too luminous for my mortality. THE LADY [_unveiling_]. Then, foolish boy, receive at length thy will: Now knowest thou the greatness of thine ill. PIERROT. Now have I lost my heart, and gained my goal. THE LADY. Didst thou not read the warning on the scroll? [_Picks up the parchment._] PIERROT. I read it all, as on this quest I fared, Save where it was illegible and hard. THE LADY. Alack! poor scholar, wast thou never taught A little knowledge serveth less than naught? Hadst thou perused--but, stay, I will explain What was the writing which thou didst disdain. [_Reads._] "_Au Petit Trianon_, at night's full noon, Mortal, beware the kisses of the moon! Whoso seeks her she gathers like a flower-- He gives a life, and only gains an hour." PIERROT [_laughing recklessly_]. Bear me away to thine enchanted bower, All of my life I venture for an hour. THE LADY.