html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }A MAY-TREE fair at Whitsuntide
Was brought me by my lover,
It was the fairest pine he could
In all the grove discover.
E’en as a fish’s eye the moon
Doth in my chamber shine,
I see him from the window, and
His feelings well divine.
He at the window knock’d, and ‘Grant,
O grant one kiss!’ he cried,
But like a little mouse beneath
The coverlet I hide.
Right eye above the coverlet
Seems fast asleep to be,
Left eye beneath the coverlet
Laughs at him merrily.
He calls again; not so the stag
Thirsts for the cooling tide,
Not so the bee that longing seeks
For honey far and wide.
But in my chamber ’twas as still,
As though a grave it were,
Only the beating of my heart
Betray’d that I was there.
Long time he knocked, long time he call’d,
At length the suer went,
His lovely voice though conquer’d me,
And to the window sent.
A little bit I raise it up,
I think that he is fled—
He catches me, he kisses me,
Until my neck is red.