May to April

Without your showers I breed no flowers, Each field a barren waste appears; If you don't weep My blossoms sleep, They take such pleasure in your tears.

As your decay Made room for May, So I must part with all that's mine; My balmy breeze, My blooming trees, To torrid suns their sweets resign.

For April dead My shades I spread, To her I owe my dress so gay; Of daughters three It falls on me To close our triumphs on one day.

Thus to repose All Nature goes; Month after month must find its doom: Time on the wing May ends the Spring, And Summer frolics o'er her tomb.