THE MAY-TREE
| THE May-tree on the hill Stands in the night So fragrant and so still, So dusky white. That, stealing from the wood In that sweet air, You’d think Diana stood Before you there. If it be so, her bloom Trembles with bliss. She waits across the gloom Her shepherd’s kiss. Touch her. A bird will start From those pure snows,— The dark and fluttering heart Endymion knows. |