PS 3(513 1^1^ Loves and Losses of Pierrot Vv illiam Griffitk Class.. Book.^ TP. Gpiglitl^L L^u:Ll CrOPYRIGHT DEPOSm LOVES AND LOSSES OF PIERROT MR. SHORES' NEW BOOKS Mrs. Bobble's Trained Nurse , By George Fox Tucker. Friendship and Other Poems By B. H. Nadal. The Valley of Lebanon By Helen S. Wright. Melinda and Her Sisters By Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont. The Penny Ante Club By Arthur J. Shores. Eat Your Way to Health By Dr. Rohert Hugh Rose. ■•p,^....y"rtnitiit^fw. " Chilled in my heart, Unspoken words Become a sigh . . ." LOVES AND LOSSES OF PIERROT BY WILLIAM GRIFFITH FRONTISPIECE AND DECORATIONS BY RODNEY THOMSON 1916 ROBERT J. SHORES, Publisher NEW YORK ^'^'^\\>^ \^ Copyright, 1916, by ROBERT J. SHORES, Publisher New York OCT 31 1916 SHORES PRESS NEW YORK 5cU4454u9 FOREWORD Pierrot and his friends have become more than legendary — have become indigenous to poetry — and these verses, written in the leisure hours of a New York editor, express a personal, individual conception of the sad, the gay, immortal buffoons. Comprehended, in this cycle, are hardly more than the spring tides and currents of emotion. The author has chosen to dedicate it to the mem- ory of Edgar Allan Poe, the least American and the greatest American poet that has yet lived. The poems have not been offered for previous publication other than to Poetry, of Chicago; The Bellman, of Minneapolis, and the Sun Dial Column, in th^New York Evening Sun; to which credit is given for reprinting a few of them, with slight changes. CONTENTS PAGE Pierrette ii Forest Oracles 13 Tryst 14 Pierrot Gives an Accounting 16 Pierrot Puzzled 18 Pierrot in Lodgings 19 Pierrot the Derelict 21 Pierrot Appraises His Friends 25 Pierrot Makes a Song 27 The Stricken Pierrot . 28 The Home-coming of Pierrette 29 Pierrot and Pierrette at the Window . . . .30 The Protest of Pierrot 31 Pierrot Serenades Invisible Verandahs ... 32 Enigma 34 Pierrot Dispossessed 35 Reconciliation 37 Premonition 38 Omen 39 Pierrot Mourns the Death of Pierrette ... 40 Pierrette in Memory 42 Pierrot Writes His Epitaph 43 Happy the songs of Pierrot, If she but heeds them: Happy for him to know That some one needs them. Happy, Pierrot, that a sigh. In words, is fleeting, — Ah! he would treasure most A happy greeting. Happy is he, is Pierrot, With his friends near him. Since his friends have to go, Who else shall hear him? Happy, if softly may fall Upon these pages. Shadows of hands that clasp Across the ages. PIERRETTE ONCE with the Graces Was Jove estranged, Weary of faces That never changed. Together draping The world with night, They thought of shaping A new delight: Imagined passion, And dreamt repose, — Something to fashion Out of a rose. By stars forsaken Were lakes and skies. Needed and taken To make her eyes. In their researches. They found the grace Of silver birches. To match her face. ["] Devoid of pity For one so fair, They chose a city, And sent her there. In garden-closes, The perfume yet And grace of roses. Betray Pierrette. [12] FOREST ORACLES 'YT'VONNE, Pierrette and Columbine Were strolling hand in hand: Debating which was most divine, The robin took a stand. Cock-sure himself, with breast afire, As breasts of robins are, He chose Yvonne, whose whole desire Was the moth for the star. The barred-owl, looking very wise, Chose Columbine to fill The forest and the empty skies With her warm crimson thrill. Pierrette, of roses had been made, Of moons and mystery; And in her deep blue eyes were laid The secrets of the sea. The ring-doves balloted by rote, And being most concerned. Chose Pierrette, on a rising vote. And joyously adjourned. [13] TRYST 'T^URNING a sudden corner, **■ She reached the trysting place: The gods, grown weary of the sun. Put twUight in her face. Dreams, swift hopes, rising, falling,— Too soon, too late, too soon, — Were as a tide that rose and fell At the will of the moon. Around us was the star shine: Like May in flowers clad. Speaking she had the voice of brooks That made the meadows glad. She spoke of the great wonder That in her heart was laid. And in her life had come to pass: Ah! need she be afraid? The moon, with little vision. Saw what was going on, And by designing sorcery Made me forget Yvonne — [14] And lose her in this happy, Inconsequential crowd ; Feeling in silence with Pierrette What Pierrot sings aloud. [15] PIERROT GIVES AN ACCOUNTING T AM rich, but not in gold, Very young when she is by: In her absence then am I Very old. Old, so old that, in eclipse. My desire begins to freeze: Then come kisses — velvet bees On her lips. Redder lips there never were. Thawing frozen passion through. Until swarming kisses do Warm the air. With what rapture and desire, Is my vagrant fancy filled ! Burning, where my veins were chilled. What sweet fire! Heart to heart and hour by hour, Never a marauding bee Cherished such a treasury In a flower. [i6] Wayward hair as dark as jet, Blue eyes, tender as the dawn, In a gown of snowy lawn. Thrills Pierrette. [17] PIERROT PUZZLED 'Tr^ODAY my fancy roams the fields, -■' Where daisies grow, And what each witching petal yields, Is fain to know. She loves me or she loves me not, Does Columbine? — Pierrette, the fickle, has forgot Poor me and mine. Ah ! how shall some few sous be made To flatter them? Could debts with kisses but be paid! Each kiss a gem! Today my fancy roams the fields. Where daisies grow. She loves me — loves me not. Which yields? Which scorns Pierrot? [i8] PIERROT IN LODGINGS T LOOK at my room, •'' And my life narrows down To the need of a broom, For my garret and town. The house-tops are gray From this garret of mine, But much harder than they Are the souls — to define. Oh, as drab and as dark As my own garret floor. They appear in the park. So remote from my door ! But my garret is high. And it looks over all. Commanding the sky And a view of the mall. In luxurious cars They loiter around. Who may yet see the stars From a hole in the ground. [19] Since the hole must be deep, Still the digging goes on, Though half the world sleep Till the break of the Dawn. Fear keeps some awake. Who will sleep in the end. And, dreaming, mistake The Foe for the Friend. But the Friend will arise And the Foe will come down, When the Janitor spies My garret and town. •' ^ c ^n .-- [20] PIERROT THE DERELICT /CERTAINLY curious ^*^ Are our penurious Selves — and absurd Ways of a bird, In his love-making; Aching, And breaking Hearts and forsaking Columbine, dear to us, Pierrette, so near to us. With no more reason Than is in treason! In, out of season Wooing, Pursuing This light-of-love — and then Others through bog and fen ; Miring, Desiring, Suddenly tiring; Groping and stark Daft and repeatedly shown to be blind Moles of a kind; Blinking And winking, Chaffing [21] And laughing, Until trouble Seems like a bubble Blown of delight, Or like a white Wisp in the dark, Time out of mind, Time out of mind! Cheery And merry As oaf or a faery Fetch on a spree. Are we — and free ! Scaramouche, Harlequin, Ugly as sin, Forcing a grin Through thick and thin; Hazy And lazy As some idle daisy. Pipe Pantaloon, Looking on life like the man in the moon! Soon — very soon, Ere we are laid Folded away, Will come a day, Or night of reckoning! [22] Pixies are beckoning Over the hedges, Over the ledges, Tripping And skipping; Trying to say. As plain as day. What is the way. Happiest way of a man with a maid, Man with a maid. Never was wooing done. Or such pursuing done — Saving the elves — As by ourselves! Poverty, haunting us. Daunting us. Flaunting us. Seems always wanting us To be conventional. Is it intentional That we are shirking Duties and smirking. Instead of working Six days in seven? This side of heaven. What is in store for us? Where any shore for us? [23] Or any oar for us? — Recklessly trimming Sails — and then swimming Round and about, Giving a shout, Ghostly, no doubt. Ere we go down, down, down, In sight of Town ! Who would behave So, but a knave — Thinking to save Hardly another Derelict brother From such a grave. Low, leaky grave? [24] PIERROT APPRAISES HIS FRIENDS T TUMBLY our names have come to live, ■■■ -^ Like some desire That the cold world must needs forgive - Shadows of fire. Our names are but as Harlequin, As Columbine, Or Scaramouche, whose gargoyle grin Is most divine. Pierrette ? Shall not the whole world round Still love her well, After the years lose heart — and sound The passing bell? Upon the altar of her own Frail self is laid Shyly this gift — the giver grown Somewhat afraid. When my curbed passion is becalmed. May, for all time. Her elvish grace not be embalmed In gracious rhyme? [25] May she not be forever dear, Heroic, vain — Something exquisite as a tear, Shed of disdain? Sharing with Columbine the crown. In our poor crowd. Her dream of riches and renown Is to be proud. Pierrette! It turns my vision gray. To muse and know That presently must come a day For her to go. She shall have gone from us and Rome, But, seen afar, Shining in spirit, may become The evening star. [26] PIERROT MAKES A SONG T7ILLED with coquettish art, -^ Blue-eyed and witty, She of the fickle heart Is void of pity. She of the frosty air. Whom love amuses. Being so very fair. Chills ere she chooses. Who, given such a choice, Would not be chosen? Who, knowing her, rejoice Not to be frozen? Pierrette or Columbine? Which has the vision Still to hold me divine, Or in derision? [27] THE STRICKEN PIERROT OURGEON, cut deep Into my soul; Put me to sleep And make me whole. Repair and rinse My soiled desire ; Lance — lance the sins, Burn them with fire. Surgeon, cut deep Into my heart ; As the knives creep. Find the bad part. Purge me of lust. Fickleness, doubt, Falsity — just Take despair out. Surgeon, cut deep Into the breath My faith must keep. Even in death. Cut down my pride Close to the sod. Dead . . . Say he died Playing with God. [28] THE HOME-COMING OF PIERRETTE TX7HOSE foot-fall is it on the stair? * ^ What sweet white spell Is laid like perfume on the air, Where we — we dwell? A dear hand hovers at the door: The gods begin To open heaven more and more : Come in — come in ! Since morning has she been away, Whose absence makes Each moment longer than a day That never breaks. Ah me! that she should ever fail To gladden all The poor place, like a nightingale. At evenfall! Blinded by star dust in our eyes. Do we regret Our home is very near the skies? Pierrette, Pierrette! [29] PIERROT AND PIERRETTE AT THE WINDOW W7 HAT though we shape no mighty thing, ^^ In word or deed; Nor sing as organ voices sing, Hymning a creed! Good-will, Pierrette, to all the crowd. Is something still Reserved for us to hum aloud; To all, good-will! Our windows, facing toward the sun. Are dim and small ; And our own vision from each one Is all in all. Searching above and under ground, Our fancies grope. Only to learn what may be found This side of hope. What wonders haply glorify The other side, Where lurking, veiled from mortal eye, The heavens hide! [30] THE PROTEST OF PIERROT T IKE harsh bells tolling in a trance, "*^' War is declared! Pierrette, the happiness of France May not be spared ! Think of sweet bleeding France — and all The joy to come, Being defeated : — and the pall On hope and home ! Home — home, Pierrette, for us at least. Who waited long. And who had put aside the feast To hear the song ! War is declared! Versailles ablaze! The world is bared! God! but the great nights and the days Love had declared! [31] PIERROT SERENADES INVISIBLE VERANDAHS T TNDER the moon, Softly a song, Only heart-long, Being a croon, Floats in the air, Seeking a fair Woman somewhere, Under the moon. Still are the stars. Shining above — Still and as cold As buried love, Are they tonight. What of guitars! Or any lute ! All being told. She remains mute. Somewhere : and quite Still are the stars. Chilled in my heart, Unspoken words Become a sigh, Like frozen birds, . [32] Fashioned to fly, Under the sky. Does anything Remain to sing, Or to aspire. Even in part, To the desire Chilled in my heart? [33] ENIGMA \T JHY is Pierrette more fair ^^ Than Columbine? Why has her dusky hair Been so divine? Why are her speaking eyes Blue as the deep Wells digged in Paradise, Covered in sleep? Why does her slightest word Mean to me more Than the apostle heard, Off the far shore? Who can say what she is? Angel or elf? Perhaps my Nemesis? — Being herself. She is a mystery. Would I could tell Whether she means to me Heaven or hell! r34] PIERROT DISPOSSESSED COMETHING, in evil guise, Baser than Baal, Taking me by surprise, Sought my betrayal. Something, of evil look, Harkening after Pierrette, stole in and took My gift of laughter. Spying our candle light. Something came straying Like a thief in the night, Pierrette waylaying. Ah! was it Harlequin, Whose necromancy Sufficed to let him in And take her fancy? From me the villain stole Love — and professing Poverty, took the sole Thing worth possessing. [35] Fool to ransack the sky, Seeking a sonnet, Instead of ways to buy Pierrette a bonnet! [36] RECONCILIATION TXT' HEN she came back, my heart had found The secret spring ; The gates of heaven made no sound, In opening. When she came back, a needed song Fell from the sky, Like a spent eagle shot, but strong In death to fly. When she came back, the April world Made itself heard, Like thunder on a flower hurled, Or on a bird. Dawn — and the sable butterflies. So black, so black! Were as a rainbow in the skies. When she came back. [37] PREMONITION piERRETTE and I went fishing, Down on the Seine one day, And wasted time in wishing For good luck — on the way. The bait was not inviting; Or else the guiding powers Forbade the fishes biting, For hours and hours and hours. I shudder at the shocking Things said and done afloat. But for the fear of rocking A little cradle boat. Upon it musing, thinking. Night found us hand in hand: The silly stars were winking Before we came to land. [38] OMEN piERRETTE has gone to Bergamo; The skies are overcast ; And on her track is blown the snow, As by a phantom blast. Pierrot, with half a life to live. And with no heart to sing. Remains for her but to forgive. In Paris shivering. She — she who once was like a lark, Trailing a star, has flown Into the silence and the dark, And left Pierrot alone. [39] PIERROT MOURNS THE DEATH OF PIERRETTE A H ! was the soul of Cain "^ More deeply shaken, At the red dawn of pain, Or more forsaken? Ages or hours ago. Was it the sighing News came from Bergamo? Pierrette was dying. She who had meant so much, Not to me only. But whose dear voice and touch Made life less lonely. Ages or hours ago. Was it the hurried Message from Bergamo Said she was buried? Much had she been alone. Gentle, forgiving. Rapturous in her own Wonder at living. . [40] Placid and pale her brow, Jealousies banished; Nothing else matters now — Pierrette has vanished. Deep in my heart a drouth, Parching, discloses Cinders — and in my mouth Ashes of roses. [41] PIERRETTE IN MEMORY piERRETTE has gone, but it was not •*- Exactly that she died, So much as vanished and forgot To say where she would hide. To keep a sudden rendezvous. It came into her mind That she was late. What could she do But leave distress behind? Afraid of being in disgrace. And hurrying to dress. She heard there was another place In need of loveliness. She went so softly and so soon — Sh ! — hardly made a stir ; But going took the stars and moon And sun away with her. [42] PIERROT WRITES HIS EPITAPH IVyTINE was to hurry No passing bell, Having no credit In heaven or hell. Nor mine to worry And droop and mope Over the siren Shadow of hope. Ring from the steeple This epitaph: Pierrot saw through them. And died to laugh. — Saw through the people Who seldom smile ; And made her happy A little while. [43] MRS. BOBBLE'S TRAINED NURSE By GEORGE FOX TUCKER Author of ^' A Quaker Home '' etc. Have you a sense of humor? Mr. Bobble had, which was all that saved his disposition when his home was invaded by a stiff and starched tyrant in a pretty white cap. If you have ever had a trained nurse in your home, you should read this book in order that you may laugh in retrospect at the things which seemed almost tragic at the time. If you have never had a trained nurse in your home, you may be sure you will have one some day, and should read it in order that you may laugh while you are able. If you are a trained nurse, you should read It In order that you may govern with understand- ing the bewildered and sometimes rebellious sub- jects of your most potent scepter — the clinical thermometer. When we read this book in manuscript, we laughed so hard that we could only stop when the doctor threatened to send for a trained nurse ! J2m0y Cloth, $1.00 net. At All Bookstores ROBERT J. SHORES, Publisher, 1977 Broadway, New York. THE PENNY ANTE CLUB By ARTHUR J. SHORES How much liberty should a man allow his wife ? Has woman ever established her claim to the possession of a soul? Should doctors be prosecuted for experimenting upon their patients ? Does the practice of the law destroy the moral sense ? Do lawyers make the best judges? Are men more open and above board than women? These and many other questions are discussed in " The Penny Ante Club " in humorous fash- ion. This is distinctly a man's book and one which will be enjoyed by any man, married or single, whether or not he has ever " sat in " at a game of Penny Ante. $1,00 net. At all booksellers or direct from ROBERT J. SHORES, Publisher, 1977 Broadway, New York. MELINDA AND HER SISTERS By MRS. O. H. P. BELMONT AND ELSA MAXWELL ^'Brilliant satire," says the New York World. ^'Epigram and repartee sparkle from one end of the skit to the other." This book, written by Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont, President of the Political Equality Association, and Miss Elsa Maxwell of London, well-known writer of musical comedies, has attracted more attention than any other book of the year on the subject of suffrage. Here, for the first time, the subject of woman suffrage is treated satirically with the satire on the side of the suffragist. I2mo, hoards, suffrage colors, JO cents net. At all booksellers or from ROBERT J. SHORES, Publisher, 1977 Broadway, New York. THE VALLEY OF LEBANON By HELEN S. WRIGHT Author of ''The Great White North/' etc. This is a story of the Berkshire Hills — that most beautiful section of New Eng- land which is the Mecca of the motorist. Filled with the natural beauty of the coun- try, athrill with human life and emotion, The Valley of Lebanon is marked by the keen observation and graphic touch so char- acteristic of this author. Price, $i.oo net At all booksellers or direct from ROBERT J. SHORES, Publisher, 1977 Broadway, New York. 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