Willa Sibert Cather

(1873-1947 / United States)

The Hawthorn Tree - Poem by Willa Sibert 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!


Comments about The Hawthorn Tree by Willa Sibert Cather

  • Mohammed Asim Nehal (6/23/2016 6:45:00 AM)


    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!
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010



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