Something held her at the topmost stair,
another hand beside her own
and the ghostly wind through the night pulsed soft,
Was it music or did it moan?
She was drawn out toward the night
like a moth drawn to the light
To fly into the candle,
to fly into the flame,
is to be more than courage,
is to rise above shame
And the ellum awoke and shook themselves
and they wept for something that only they felt
And she nearly stepped out into the star-swirling dark
it was as though the quick bluejay had stolen her heart
The eyes of the day were closed quiet in sleep
and the willows did wander, no more did they weep
The mockingbird called in the voices of those
who had passed that way before
the gypsy spirits, dancing and ringing
And oh! She steps out from behind the door

The moon hung lazily half-alight
in the midst of a cool, crisp-aired night
The sleeping birds dreamt and wondered why
the people danced and played with ease
their parts in the dance, bakc and forth
but still they do not see
Who is to say what is real and not? 
the wind sighed and curled around the spot
where stood she, entranced by the night,
like a moth to the candle, like a moth to the light
And if courage is flying into the flame,
then how shall she ever remember her name?
It seemed to vanish off into the woods
but without it she can see so much more good
the fawn and the eye of the day are asleep
and so are the fields, and so are the sheep
But she wanders without a care to the world,
except this, this night-time, this sweetness, free
except this, which holds her so spellbound

The song seems to warn, do not lock it away
in the cold, that darkness and internal cave
A redbird, in a cage
that beats it wings
against the bars, and still knows how to sing
The song seems to warn, here is the morn!
If you wish to remain, you must linger no more!
So she rushes along on the back of the shadows,
one of them now, and they are her fellows
caught, enraptured by the night
and so as the moon sinks away they make their flight

And yet something seems to call her to the topmost stair...
A voice so like her own
and so she returns, on tiptoe, softly, and sighing...
Away with the night her heart has flown.