An April Maiden

Were you ever heavy-hearted, little May?
She tossed her pretty head,
As right merrily she said,
"Heavy hearted? No, not I;
Yet a little makes me cry,
And a little less than half
Makes me laugh--
My mother often calls me 'April Day.'"

Were you ever very happy, little May?
Again she shook her head.
"I do not know," she said.
"Very happy? Who is so?
Not a single soul, you know;
Mother often tells me this,
With a kiss;
Our life, she says, is like an April day."

Were you ever very naughty, little May?
She flushed a rosy red,
As, right saucily, she said,
"Very naughty? Let me see:
Why, I have been bad--for me;
I have trod on, Pussy's toes,
And I've torn my Sunday clo'es;
And, oh!--now, don't you tell!--
I mean to--well,
Fool every one I know on April-day."