The Western Gate -

The leaves will whisper there for her

Like flying words, will strike you as they fall;

But go, and if you listen, she will call

There where the vines cling crimson on the wall

And in the twilight wait for what will come

No, there is not a dawn in the eastern skies

To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes;

Where western glooms are gathering

The dark will end the dark

There are the crimson leaves upon the wall

Go, for the winds are tearing them away

Nor think to riddle the dead words they say

There where the vines cling

There where the vines cling crimson on the wall

And in the twighlight wait for what will come

Waiting for half of paradise

Yes, there is yet one way to where she is

The leaves will whisper there for her

Like flying words, will strike you as they fall;

But go, and if you listen, she will call

Go to the western gate