Classic Poem

In summer-time, when all the sky was blue,
And all the garden walks with flowers arrayed,
I sent, dear love, a little song to you.
I heard, you read it where the roses grew,
And then you said, such songs were only made
In summer-time, when all the sky is blue.
So, since you nothing care to prove me true,
I'll fret you not with any homage paid,
Save, love, that little song I sent to you —
I do but ask you, with no thought of rue,
While I shall stand afar off in the shade,
Remember once, when all your sky is blue,
That little summer song I sent to you!