Classic Poem

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!