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.

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