Good-Bye, Pierrette. The New Moon Waits Like Some Shy Maiden At The Gates Of Rose And Pearl, To Watch Us Stand This Little Moment, Hand In Hand-- Nor One Red Rose Its Watch Abates. The Low Wind Through Your Garden Prates Of One This Twilight Desolates. Ah, Was It This Your Roses Planned? Good-Bye, Pierrette. Oh, Merriest Of Little Mates, No Sadder Lover Hesitates Beneath This Moon In Any Land; Nor Any Roses, Watchful, Bland, Look On A Sadder Jest Of Fate'S. Good-Bye, Pierrette.