Lyrics:
(P. Simon)April come she willWhen streams are ripe and swelled with rain;May, she will stay,Resting in my arms again.June, she'll change her tune,In restless walks she'll prowl the night;July, she will flyAnd give no warning to her flight.August, die she must,The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;September I'll rememberA love once new has now grown old.