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.