For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.
The first day of spring was once the time for taking the young virgins into the fields, there in dalliance to set an example in fertility for nature to follow. Now we just set the clocks an hour ahead and change the oil in the crankcase.
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered isgrief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.
Nature is God's first missionary. Where there is no Bible there are sparkling stars. Where there are not preachers there are spring times... If a person has nothing but nature, then nature is enough to reveal something about God.
In our spring-time every day has its hidden growths in the mind, as it has in the earth when the little folded blades are getting ready to pierce the ground.
Buttercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers; Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours. When the trees are leafless; When the fields are bare; Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there.
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown or hair Fear not; the leaves will strew Gems in abundance upon you Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept. Come, and receive them while the light Hangs on the dew-locks of the night And Titan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true, Primrose, first born child of Ver, Merry Spring-time's harbinger.
A life of mere pleasure! A little while, in the spring-time of the senses, in the sunshine of prosperity, in the jubilee of health, it may seem well enough. But how insufficient, how mean, how terrible when age comes, and sorrow, and death! A life of pleasure! What does it look like when these great changes beat against it--when the realities of eternity stream in? It looks like the fragments of a feast, when the sun shines upon the withered garlands, and the tinsel, and the overturned tables, and the dead lees of wine.
He will come with a mouth full of forevers and skin as sweet as spring time. He will kiss the places that hurt and will tell you the scars are beautiful. He will cover every inch of you in words he's learned and dress you in the colors of every season and he will not be the one. He will feel like a hurricane and you'll wonder how you will ever recover and rebuild. But you will. You always will. And you'll realize he is not the one.
O the wind is a faun in the spring time When the ways are green for the tread of the May! List! hark his lay! Whist! mark his play! T-r-r-r-l! Hear how gay!
Lyrical poetry is much the same an every age, as the songs of the nightingales in every spring-time.
In the chequered area of human experience the seasons are all mingled as in the golden age: fruit and blossom hang together; in the same moment the sickle is reaping and the seed is sprinkled; one tends the green cluster and another treads the wine-press. Nay, in each of our lives harvest and spring-time are continually one, until Death himself gathers us and sows us anew in his invisible fields.
Oh! faint delicious spring-time violet, Thine odor like a key, Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let A thought of sorrow free.
Youth is the spring-time of life. It is the time to acquire information, so that we may show it off in after years and paralyze people with what we know.
It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass, In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.
We are all naturally seekers of wonders. We travel far to see the majesty of old ruins, the venerable forms of the hoary mountains, great waterfalls, and galleries of art. And yet the world's wonder is all around us; the wonder of setting suns, and evening stars, of the magic spring-time, the blossoming of the trees, the strange transformations of the moth...
Break open the cherry tree: where are the blossoms? Just wait for spring time to see how they bloom.
The coming and going of the seasons give us more than the spring times, summers, autumns, and winters of our lives. It reflects the coming and going of the circumstances of our lives like the glassy surface of a pond that shows our faces radiant with joy or contorted with pain.
Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when the abounding hedges ring Declare that winter's best of all: And after that there's nothing good Because the spring time has not come- Not know that what disturbs our blood Is but its longing for the tomb.
It is spring time now! While the world looks for a new war to fight, you look for a cherry blossom to watch! Let the stupid seeks the violence; you seek the elegance!
Sleep is not, death is not; Who seem to die Live. House you were born in, Friends of your spring-time, old man and young maid, Day's toil and it's guerdon, They are all vanishing, Fleeing to fables, Cannot be moored
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