  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! |
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