I shall sing Of many a thing In this April weather.
Maybe I’ll cry Or perhaps sigh That we should be together.
Maybe I’ll not Care even a jot If I should never see you.
If I should say That’s just my way— Poor man, how it would grieve you!
A speaker is feeling light and a little restless in the April air, and she can't decide how she feels about the person she's addressing. In the first stanza she promises to sing about "many a thing," as if the season itself has loosened her tongue. Then comes the shifting: maybe she'll cry, maybe she'll sigh because the two of them aren't together, or maybe she won't care "even a jot" if she never sees him again.
The real surprise arrives in the last stanza. She admits that this indifference might just be "my way," a pose she puts on. Then she turns to the man with a wink: "Poor man, how it would grieve you!" The sudden confidence tells us she probably cares quite a lot, and she knows he does too. The short, bouncy lines and tidy rhymes keep the mood playful, a flirtatious mix of longing and mischief, with April's changeable weather mirroring her changeable heart.