| The jester walked in the garden: |
| The garden had fallen still; |
| He bade his soul rise upward |
| And stand on
her window-sill. |
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|
| 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. |
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|
| 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. |
|
|
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|
| It
had grown sweet-tongued by dreaming |
| Of a flutter of flower-like hair; |
| But she took up her fan from the
table |
| And waved it off on the air. |
|
|
|
|
| ‘I have cap and bells,’ he pondered, |
| ‘I will send them to her and die’; |
| And when the morning whitened |
| He left them where she went by. |
|
|
|
|
| She laid them upon her bosom, |
| Under
a cloud of her hair, |
| And her red lips sang them a love-song |
| Till stars grew out of the air. |
|
|
|
|
| She opened
her door and her window, |
| And the heart and the soul came through, |
| To her right hand came the red
one, |
| To her left hand came the blue. |
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|
|
|
| They set up a noise like crickets, |
| A chattering wise and sweet, |
| And her hair was a folded flower |
| And the quiet of love in her feet. |
