'Twas in the sunny weather I threw my heart away,
I tossed it to the Springtime, and the thousand shapes of joy—
And who should chance to find it but a woman who, they say,
Had lacked a heart herself and so she took the pretty toy.

'Twas in the cloudy weather I found my heart again;
It came back to my window, complaining bitterly—
It came back bruised and begging, haggard and torn with pain;
But I laughed and let it perish—what use was it to me?