(lyrics adapted from W.B. Yeatsmusic by G. Schoemaker)
The jester walked in the garden
The garden had fallen still
He bade his soul rise upward
And stand on her window-sill
It rose in a straight blue garment
When owls began to call
It had grown wise-tongued by thinking
Of a quiet and light footfall
But the young queen would not listen
She rose in her pale night-gown
She drew in the heavy casement
And pushed the latches down
He bade his heart go to her
When the owls called out no more
In a red and quivering garment
It sang to her through the door, through the door
Through the door, through the door
|