They laid their hands upon my head, <br>They stroked my cheek and brow; <br>And time could heal a hurt, they said, <br>And time could dim a vow. <br>And they were pitiful and mild <br>Who whispered to me then; <br>The heart that breaks in April, child; <br>Will mend in May again. <br>Oh, many a mended heart they knew; <br>So old they were, and wise. <br>And little did they have to do <br>To come to me with lies! <br>Who flings me silly talk of May <br>Shall meet a bitter soul; <br>For June was nearly spent away <br>Before my heart was whole.