APRIL
Lady April, it is clear,
Is the spoilt child of the Year.
See her tears about to start—
Thus she melts old Winter's heart.
Now the gay deceiving thing
Turns and plays the deuce with Spring.
Winter lingers at her gate;
Spring grows chilly and irate.
I'd go home if I were he—
It is just such girls as she
Make a fellow thank his stars
For the solace of cigars.
