by Ella Higginson
Hey, pretty maid! Whence comest thou
With violets linked about thy brow,
And zone of buttercups' own gold?
The currant blossoms round thee fold
Their delicate beauty, red and sweet,
And star-flowers faint beneath thy feet.
Thou dear coquette! A tear, a frown,
Dark lashes drooping shyly down,
To bid one hope the while he fears,
Then sudden laughter thro' thy tears;
May all thy sweethearts now take care,
And of thy ravishments beware.
See how the soft wind kisses thee,
And how the rough wind misses thee,
And fruit trees blow and bend and sigh
When thy glad feet come twinkling by;
And thou dost laugh thro' sparkling tears
And kisses fling at hopes and fears.
Ah, May is fair, and June is sweet,
And August comes with loitering feet;
July's the maid to lie and dream,
Beside some blue and lilied stream;
But April's sweetheart never yet
Could her tear-mingled smiles forget.