Full of moods, and full of pranks,
Who on earth can trust thy face?
Thy promises, however fair,
Thou dost at any time forswear,
Spite of all thine artless grace.
Blue thine eyes, and bright thy face.
What of that? Thou art not true!
Smiles one moment, tears the next;
One day pleased, the other--vexed:
No one knows what thou wilt do.
Oh, we know thee thro' and thro',
Wayward, saucy child of Spring!
Thy very birth makes fools of men.
And all throughout thy careless reign,
Cloud and sunshine dost thou bring.