Maple Tree

O THOU brotherly maple tree! Wilt thou be a friend to me? Be a brother, and be a friend! To the green grass thy branches bend, That I may climb to their highest tip! Look o’er the sea, and see the ship, Where my lover sits smiling now; He binds the turban round his brow, And over his shoulders the shawl he flings, Which is full of mine own embroiderings. For three long years my hands inwove Those golden flowers to deck my love: The richest silk of the brightest dyes I work’d for him, and now my eyes Would fain my absent lover see: Assist me, brotherly maple tree! And tell me, if he thinks of me!