Maytime

Deep in the grass there lies a dead gazelle, The tall white grass enwraps her where she fell. With sweet thoughts natural to spring, A pretty girl goes wandering With lover that would lead astray. The little dwarf oaks hide a leafy dell, Far in the wilds there lies a dead gazelle; The tall white grass enwraps her where she fell, And beauty, like a gem, doth fling Bright radiance through the blinds of spring. "Ah, gently! do not disarray My kerchief! gently, pray! Nor make the watch-dog bark Under my lattice dark."