Classic Poem

That's just your way, sweet April, smile and sigh:
Your sorrow's half in fun,
Begun and done
And turned to joy while twenty seconds run.
I've gathered flowers all as I came along,
At every step a flower
Fed by your last bright shower,—[She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers with April, who strolls away thro' the garden.]

 MAY.

And gathering flowers I listened to the song
Of every bird in bower.

  The world and I are far too full of bliss
  To think or plan or toil or care;
   The sun is waxing strong,
   The days are waxing long,
    And all that is,
     Is fair.

  Here are my buds of lily and of rose,
  And here's my namesake blossom may;
   And from a watery spot
   See here forget-me-not,
    With all that blows
     Today.

  Hark to my linnets from the hedges green,
  Blackbird and lark and thrush and dove,
   And every nightingale
   And cuckoo tells its tale,
    And all they mean
     Is love.[June appears at the further end of the garden, coming slowly towards May, who, seeing her, exclaims]

 MAY.

Surely you're come too early, sister June.