(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