In the deep violet air, Not a leaf is stirred; There is no sound heard, But afar, the rare Trilled voice of a bird. Is the wood's dim heart, And the fragrant pine, Incense, and a shrine Of her coming? Apart, I wait for a sign. What the sudden hush said, She will hear, and forsake, Swift, for my sake, Her green, grassy bed: She will hear and awake! She will hearken and glide, From her place of deep rest, Dove-eyed, with the breast Of a dove, to my side: The pines bow their crest. I wait for a sign: The leaves to be waved, The tall tree-tops laved In a flood of sunshine, This world to be saved! _In the deep violet air, Not a leaf is stirred; There is no sound heard, But afar, the rare Trilled voice of a bird._ THE PIERROT OF THE MINUTE _THE CHARACTERS_ A MOON MAIDEN PIERROT _THE SCENE_ _A glade in the Parc due Petit Trianon. In the centre a Doric temple with steps coming down the stage. On the left a little Cupid on a pedestal. Twilight._ [_Pierrot enters with his hands full of lilies. He is burdened with a little basket. He stands gazing at the Temple and the Statue._] PIERROT My journey's end! This surely is the glade Which I was promised: I have well obeyed! A clue of lilies was I bid to find, Where the green alleys most obscurely wind; Where tall oaks darkliest canopy o'erhead, And moss and violet make the softest bed; Where the path ends, and leagues behind me lie The gleaming courts and gardens of Versailles; The lilies streamed before me, green and white; I gathered, following; they led me right, To the bright temple and the sacred grove: This is, in truth, the very shrine of Love! [_He gathers together his flowers and lays them at the foot of Cupid's statue; then he goes timidly up the first steps of the temple and stops._] PIERROT It is so solitary, I grow afraid. Is there no priest here, no devoted maid? Is there no oracle, no voice to speak, Interpreting to me the word I seek? [_A very gentle music of lutes floats out from the temple. Pierrot starts back; he shows extreme surprise; then he returns to the foreground, and crouches down in rapt attention until the music ceases. His face grows puzzled and petulant._] PIERROT Too soon! too soon! in that enchanting strain, Days yet unlived, I almost lived again: It almost taught me that I most would know-- Why am I here, and why am I Pierrot? [_Absently he picks up a lily which has fallen to the ground, and repeats:_] PIERROT Why came I here, and why am I Pierrot? That music and this silence both affright; Pierrot can never be a friend of night. I never felt my solitude before-- Once safe at home, I will return no more. Yet the commandment of the scroll was plain; While the light lingers let me read again. [_He takes a scroll from his bosom and reads:_]