And all the neat little boys and girls,
With clean fresh faces and hair in curls,
Sing in a chorus, "Hurray, hurray!
April's gone, it's the First of May!"
* * * *
That's how I dreamt my May-day dream;
But things are not what they ought to seem.
For the wind—why, bless me, the wind is East,
And the birds don't warble or chirp the least.
The whole of the sky is wrapped in gloom.