If we had not winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbor: "Winter is dead.
Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.
You can't see Canada across lake Erie, but you know it's there. It's the same with spring. You have to have faith, especially in Cleveland.
Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!
Spring comes: the flowers learn their colored shapes.
The naked earth is warm with Spring,
And with green grass and bursting trees
Leans to the sun's kiss glorying,
And quivers in the sunny breeze.
May is a pious fraud of the almanac.
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
Hee that is in a towne in May loseth his spring.
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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.
No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn. April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it.
From the end spring new beginnings.
All things seem possible in May.
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king
A light exists in Spring
Not present in the year
at any other period
When March is scarcely here.
May and June. Soft syllables, gentle names for the two best months in the garden year: cool, misty mornings gently burned away with a warming spring sun, followed by breezy afternoons and chilly nights. The discussion of philosophy is over; it's time for work to begin.
Indoors or out, no one relaxes
In March, that month of wind and taxes,
The wind will presently disappear,
The taxes last us all the year.
The Spring I seek is in a new face only.
Spring is beautiful, and smells sweet. Spring is when you shake the curtains, and pound on the rugs, and take off your long underwear, and wash in all the corners.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
And hear the pleasant cockoo, loud and long - The simple bird that thinks two notes a song.
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