The April winds are magical, And thrill our tuneful frames; The garden-walks are passional To bachelors and dames.
Every tear is answered by a blossom, Every sigh with songs and laughter blent, April-blooms upon the breezes toss them. April knows her own, and is content.
All things seem possible in May.
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king
Oh, to be in England now that April's there.
Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
Every April God rewrites the book of Genesis.
Sweet April-time - O cruel April-time! Year after year returning, with a brow Of promise, and red lips with longing paled, And backward-hidden hands that clutch the joys Of vanished springs, like flowers.
I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.
April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
The world's favorite season is the spring. All things seem possible in May.
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers: Of April, May, or June, and July flowers. I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of the bridal cakes.
Now the noisy winds are still; April's coming up the hill! All the spring is in her train, Led by shining ranks of rain; Pit, pat, patter, clatter, Sudden sun and clatter patter!... All things ready with a will, April's coming up the hill!
The month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud come over the sunlit arch, And wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.
Spring is God's way of saying, 'One more time!'
Is the spring coming?" he said. "What is it like?"... "It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine.
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbor: "Winter is dead.
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.
Nothing is so beautiful as spring - when weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring the ear, it strikes like lightning to hear him sing.
April, April Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears.
In June as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day. No man can heed all of these anniversaries; no man can ignore all of them.
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.
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