Love came to me one morn in May,
Bringing all glad things on his way,
" Lo, here are Autumn and Summer and Spring,
All three seasons in one I bring. "
He spake me smooth,
And he sware for sooth,
That his gold was good, and his troth was truth.
Alack, the day!
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
Man sows in vain what he reaps with pain,
And the joy once gone shall be never again
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
'Tis ever thus
Love deals with us;
Builds his bower for to-day, and then flies away

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