April come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again
June, she′ll change her tune,
In restless walks she′ll prowl the night;
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight.
August, die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
September I′ll remember.
A love once new has now grown old.
