May hath forgot her manners, I do fear—
This fairest child of all the gladsome year
Comes in with poutings, and with suller mien,
Instead of smiling like a vernal Queen.
She's weeping too, with frowns upon her brow,
And truly hath forgot her pleasant bow.
Egad! I guess the reason for her woes,
Rude April leaving trod upon her toes!