The hawthorn tree

G. Baxter

Across the shimmering meadows,

Ah, when he came to me!

In the springtime,

In the nighttime,

In the starlight,

Beneath the hawthorn tree.

Up from the misty marshland

Ah, when he climbed to me!

To my white bower,

To my sweet rest,

To my warm breast,

Beneath the hawthorn tree.

Ask of me what the birds sang,

High in the hawthorn tree;

What the breeze tells,

What the rose smells,

What the stars shine

Not what he said to me!