PIERROT Would it be impudent to beg a kiss? THE LADY I say not that: yet prithee have a care! Often audacity has proved a snare. How wan and pale do moon-kissed roses grow-- Dost thou not fear my kisses, Pierrot? PIERROT As one who faints upon the Libyan plain Fears the oasis which brings life again! THE LADY Where far away green palm trees seem to stand May be a mirage of the wreathing sand. PIERROT Nay, dear enchantress, I consider naught, Save mine own ignorance, which would be taught. THE LADY Dost thou persist? PIERROT I do entreat this boon! [_She bends forward, their lips meet: she withdraws with a petulant shiver. She utters a peal of clear laughter._] THE LADY Why art thou pale, fond lover of the moon? PIERROT Cold are thy lips, more cold than I can tell Yet would I hang on them, thine icicle! Cold is thy kiss, more cold than I could dream Arctus sits, watching the Boreal stream: But with its frost such sweetness did conspire That all my veins are filled with running fire; Never I knew that life contained such bliss As the divine completeness of a kiss. THE LADY Apt scholar! so love's lesson has been taught, Warning, as usual, has gone for naught. PIERROT Had all my schooling been of this soft kind, To play the truant I were less inclined. Teach me again! I am a sorry dunce-- I never knew a task by conning once. THE LADY Then come with me! below this pleasant shrine Of Venus we will presently recline, Until birds' twitter beckon me away To mine 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._] PIERROT 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. [_Taking her hand._] THE LADY Refrain, refrain! PIERROT [_With passion._] 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 attitude 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.