If I were gusty April now, 
How I would blow at laughing Rose ; 
I'd make her ribbons slip their knots, 
And all her hair come loose. 

If I were merry April now, 
How I would pelt her cheeks with showers ; 
I'd make carnations, rich and warm, 
Of her vermilion flowers. 

Since she will laugh in April's face. 
No matter how he rains or blows --
Then O that I wild April were, 
To play with laughing Rose.