Can words describe the fragrance of the very breath of spring?
In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
I stare out the window and wait for spring.
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
Nothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush.
April ... hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
The sincerity of the art worker must permeate the song as naturally as the green leaves break through the dead branches in springtime.
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.
Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
God is in his Heaven, all's right with the world.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Sweet April showers do spring May flowers.
What a strange thing! to be alive beneath cherry blossoms.
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.
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.
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.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, a box where sweets compacted lie.
April is the cruelest month, T.S. Eliot wrote, by which I think he meant (among other things) that springtime makes people crazy. We expect too much, the world burgeons with promises it can't keep, all passion is really a setup, and we're doomed to get our hearts broken yet again. I agree, and would further add: Who cares? Every spring I go out there anyway, around the bend, unconditionally. ... Come the end of the dark days, I am more than joyful. I'm nuts.
Spring being a tough act to follow, God created June.
She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbor: "Winter is dead.
Because God is full of life, I imagine each morning Almighty God says to the sun, "Do it again"; and every evening to the moon and the stars, "Do it again"; and every springtime to the daisies, "Do it again"; and every time a child is born into the world asking for curtain call, that the heart of the God might once more ring out in the heart of the babe.
March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.
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