“Here is April!” cuckoo cries
From the tall tree near the skies;
“April! April!” croaks the frog
From his dank hole in the bog;
“April!” sings the thrush again
From his clay nest in the lane.
April, ’tis thy merry weather
Makes the wild colt burst his tether;
April in his royal dower
Has soft sunbeam and sharp shower;