The Wild Lover

Sway your lithe arms, ye graceful trees,

The wind is out a-wooing!

Ye may be many, yet he sees

A way to your undoing.

Ye need not fear,

Though birds may hear

Your whispers or your sighs;

Or tell the night

Of your delight —

Nay, Nay, the birds are wise.

Your vestiture of maiden green

Doth very well adorn ye;

The wind will deem each one a queen,

And woo. He dare not scorn ye!