Careless

Spring gave me a friend, and a true, true love; —

The summer went carolling by,

And the autumn brown'd, and the winter frown'd,

And I sat me down to sigh;

My friend was false for the sake of gold,

Ere the farmer stack'd his rye;

And my true love changed with the fickle west wind,

Ere winter dull'd the sky:

But the bees are humming — a new spring's coming,

And none the worse am I!