"The early mist had vanished and the fields lay like a silver shield under the sun. It was one of the days when the glitter of winter shines through a pale haze of spring."

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And fairy month of waking mirth From whom our joys ensue Thou early gladder of the earth Thrice welcome here anew With thee the bud unfolds to leaves The grass greens on the lea And flowers their tender boon receives To bloom and smile with thee.

— John Clare