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The Spring I seek is in a new face only.
Sep 17, 2025
Hee that is in a towne in May loseth his spring.
A light exists in Spring Not present in the year at any other period When March is scarcely here.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
O the green things growing, the green things growing, The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.
Spring is when life's alive in everything.
From the end spring new beginnings.
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.
A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.
If spring came but once a century instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all the hearts to behold the miraculous change.
In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.
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! The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring, the sweet Spring!
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 lightnings to hear him sing; The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. What is all this juice and all this joy? A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning In Eden garden.-Have, get, before it cloy.
Life stands before me like an eternal spring with new and brilliant clothes.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year. Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; And make us happy in the happy bees, The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
The fields are snowbound no longer; There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green. The snow has been caught up into the sky- So many white clouds-and the blue of the sky is cold. Now the sun walks in the forest, He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers; They shiver, and wake from slumber. Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls. Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears.... A wind dances over the fields. Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter, Yet the little blue lakes tremble And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
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.
The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month.
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
I think that no matter how old or infirm I may become, I will always plant a large garden in the spring. Who can resist the feelings of hope and joy that one gets from participating in nature's rebirth?
April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go.
No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn. April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it.
You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.
April is a promise that May is bound to keep.
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.
Every spring is the only spring, a perpetual astonishment.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
April ... hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
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.
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
The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created Spring.
That God once loved a garden we learn in Holy writ. And seeing gardens in the Spring I well can credit it.
God is in his Heaven, all's right with the world.
Spring is nature's way of saying, 'Let's party!'
Sweet April showers do spring May flowers.
Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.
In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
Hoe while it is spring, and enjoy the best anticipations. It is not much matter if things do not turn out well.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
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.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
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.
It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!