They laid their hands upon my head,
They stroked my cheek and brow
And time could heal a hurt, they said,
And time could dim a vow
And they were pitiful and mild
Who whispered to me then,
"The heart that breaks in April, child,
Will mend in May again."
Oh, many a mended heart they knew.
So old they were, and wise
And little did they have to do
To come to me with lies!
Who flings me silly talk of May
Shall meet a bitter soul
For June was nearly spent away
Before my heart was whole
