Stain My Eyes As I May, On

The Voice Of One Who Goes Before, To Makethe Paths Of June More Beautiful, Is Thinesweet May!

Wounded Vanity Knows When It Is Mortally Hurt; And Limps Off The Field, Piteous, All Disguises Thrown Away. But Pride Carries Its Banner To The Last.

The Goldenrod Is Yellow, The Corn Is Turning Brown, The Trees In Apple Orchards With Fruit Are Bending Down.

When Love Is At Its Best, One Loves So Much That He Cannot Forget.

Ah, March! We Know Thou Art Kind-hearted, Spite Of Ugly Looks And Threats, And, Out Of Sight, Art Nursing April's Violets!