Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
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.
From the end spring new beginnings.
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
Spring is nature's way of saying, 'Let's party!'
People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.
April is a promise that May is bound to keep.
Sweet April showers do spring May flowers.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, a box where sweets compacted lie.
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.
Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.
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.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
The world's favorite season is the spring. All things seem possible in May.
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.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day.
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