Madison Julius Cawein



Hotly burns the amaryllis
 With its stars of red;
Whitely rise the stately lilies
 From the lily bed;
Withered shrinks the wax May-apple
 'Neath its parasol;
Chilly dies the violet dapple
 In its earthly hall.


March is but a blust'ring liar,
 April a sad love,
May a milkmaid from the byre
 Flirting in the grove.
June is rich in many blossoms,
 She's the one I'll woo;
Health swells in her sunny bosoms,
 She's my sweetheart true.

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