Ii

“March was but a blustering liar; April, sad as night: May, a milkmaid from the byre, Full of love but light. June, sweet June!--ah! she’s My Lady, Fair and fine and tall, Strolling down the woodways shady-- June is best of all! She is like my Moll! Fol-de-rol-de-rol! She is like sweet Moll!”