Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
All through the long winter, I dream of my garden. On the first day of spring, I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth. I can feel its energy, and my spirits soar.
Spring is when life's alive in everything.
Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
Life stands before me like an eternal spring with new and brilliant clothes.
You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.
Every spring is the only spring, a perpetual astonishment.
I stare out the window and wait for spring.
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.
In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.
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.
The Spring I seek is in a new face only.
May is a pious fraud of the almanac.
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.
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing. Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
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.
Hee that is in a towne in May loseth his spring.
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.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.
The month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit.
Spring comes: the flowers learn their colored shapes.
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.
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