Past the ivy-covered windows of the angel   Down Athenaeum Lane to the cathedral   Through the churchyard I wandered   Sat for a spell there and I pondered   My back to the gates, my back to the gates   My back to the gates of the garden      Fugitive fathers, sickly infants, decent mothers   Runaways and suicidal lovers   Assorted boxes of ordinary bones   Of aborted plans and sudden shattered hopes   In unlucky rows, in unhappy rows   In unlucky rows, up to the gates of the garden      Won't you meet me at the gates?   Won't you meet me at the gates?   Won't you meet me at the gates to the garden?      Beneath the creeping shadow of the tower   The bell from St. Edmunds informs me of the hour   I turn to find you waiting there for me   In sunlight and I see the way that you breathe   All alive and the leaning, alive and the leaning   All alive and the leaning, leaning on the gates to the garden      Leave these ancient places to the angels   Let the saints attend to the keeping of their cathedral   And leave the dead beneath the ground so cold   For God is in this hand that I hold   As we open up the gates, as we open up the gates   We open up the gates to the garden      Won't you meet me at the gates?   Won't you meet me at the gates?   Won't you meet me at the gates to the garden?