The Hawthorn Tree
by Willa Cather

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!