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. 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. 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. |
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