The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1908], at sacred-texts.com

p. 28

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."