The Hawthorne Tree

THE HAWTHORN TREE

by Willa Cather

Across the shimmering meadows—  
Ah, when he came to me! 
 In the spring time,  
In the night time,  
In the starlight,  
Beneath the hawthorn tree.
 
Up from the misty marsh land—  
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!


Found on the Willa Cather Archive here.