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At the garden window,
My pen draws her likeness
And in the paper light,
A shadow flies.
A shadow flies,
The herald of the evening,
Quiet… before…
The judgement of the night.
Quiet… before…
The judgement of the night.
I have got to tell her,
Who will tell for me
That she is complete,
Beyond all her knowing,
She, the perfect part.
Along the hidden path,
The brambled way is thickened –
With tangled branches
And thorns, ignored,
And thorns, ignored,
While fruit is for the gathering,
And wounds… not heeded…
So great is the reward.
And wounds… not heeded…
So great is the reward.
A voyage passes,
The seas are roughly spirited.
The deep is dark,
My boat is frail,
My boat is frail,
But now my faith is strong
That I… Alone…
Shall pass where I could fail
That I… Alone…
Shall pass where I could fail
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