Home grown tomatoes, home grown tomatoes What would life be like without homegrown tomatoes Only two things that money can't buy That's true love and home grown tomatoes.
The linden, in the fervors of July, Hums with a louder concert. When the wind Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime, As when some master-hand exulting sweeps The keys of some great organ, ye give forth The music of the woodland depths, a hymn Of gladness and of thanks.
Now summer is in flower and natures hum Is never silent round her sultry bloom Insects as small as dust are never done Wi' glittering dance and reeling in the sun And green wood fly and blossom haunting bee Are never weary of their melody Round field hedge now flowers in full glory twine Large bindweed bells wild hop and streakd woodbine That lift athirst their slender throated flowers Agape for dew falls and for honey showers These round each bush in sweet disorder run And spread their wild hues to the sultry sun.
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
Tears are summer showers to the soul.
God is day and night, winter and summer, war and peace, surfeit and hunger.
Here is the ghost Of a summer that lived for us, Ere is a promise Of summer to be.
Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
There's no such thing as bad weather - only the wrong clothes.
While we're young and beautiful, living free and easy. Here without a worry, dancing in our bare feet because when the summer's done we might not be so young and beautiful.
When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away.
This was one of those perfect New England days in late summer where the spirit of autumn takes a first stealing flight, like a spy, through the ripening country-side, and, with feigned sympathy for those who droop with August heat, puts her cool cloak of bracing air about leaf and flower and human shoulders.
When on a summer's morn I wake, And open my two eyes, Out to the clear, born-singing rills My bird-like spirit flies. To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush, Or any bird in song; And common leaves that hum all day Without a throat or tongue. And when Time strikes the hour for sleep, Back in my room alone, My heart has many a sweet bird's song - And one that's all my own.
Summer bachelors, like summer breezes, are never as cool as they pretend to be.
He was in love with life as an ant on a summer blade of grass.
I question not if thrushes sing, If roses load the air; Beyond my heart I need not reach When all is summer there.
Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
One benefit of Summer was that each day we had more light to read by.
The way to ensure summer in England is to have it framed and glazed in a comfortable room.
Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer quite the other way I have to go to bed by day.
For one swallow does not make a summer, nor does one day; and so too one day, or a short time, does not make a man blessed and happy.
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