I cannot tell you how it was; But this I know: It came to pass...

Upon a bright and breezy day
when April was young; ah pleasant Spring!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last eggs had not hatched as yet,
Nor any bird foregone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was;
But this I know; it did but pass.
It passed away with sunny April.
With all sweet things it passed away,
And left me old, and cold, and grey...