The May Tree
by Alfred Noyes
   The May-tree stands on a 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.
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