Months

"Why should this Negro insolently stride Down the red noonday on such noiseless feet? Piled in his barrow, tawnier than wheat, Lie heaps of smouldering daisies, sombre-eyed, Their copper petals shriveled up with pride, Hot with a superfluity of heat, Like a great brazier borne along the street By captive leopards, black and burning pied. Are there no water-lilies, smooth as cream, With long stems dripping crystal? Are there none Like those white lilies, luminous and cool, Plucked from some hemlock-darkened northern stream By fair-haired swimmers, diving where the sun Scarce warms the surface of the deepest pool?"

"The August cloud * * * suddenly Melts into streams of rain."

"In the parching August wind, Cornfields bow the head, Sheltered in round valley depths, On low hills outspread."

"Dead is the air, and still! the leaves of the locust and walnut Lazily hang from the boughs, inlaying their intricate outlines Rather on space than the sky -on a tideless expansion of slumber."

"In December I'll make your block feel like summer."

"December drops no weak, relenting tear, By our fond Summer sympathies ensnared; Nor from the perfect circle of the year Can even Winter's crystal gems be spared."

"In cold December fragrant chaplets blow, And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow."

"When we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?"

"Only the sea intoning, Only the wainscot-mouse, Only the wild wind moaning Over the lonely house."

"Wild was the day; the wintry sea Moaned sadly on New England's strand, When first the thoughtful and the free, Our fathers, trod the desert land."

"Shout now! The months with loud acclaim, Take up the cry and send it forth; May breathing sweet her Spring perfumes, November thundering from the North. With hands upraised, as with one voice, They join their notes in grand accord; Hail to December! say they all, It gave to Earth our Christ the Lord!"

"In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look; But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time"

"The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon."

"Come when the rains Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering."

"The February sunshine steeps your boughs And tints the buds and swells the leaves within."

"February makes a bridge, and March breaks it."

"February, fill the dyke With what thou dost like."

"The most serious charge which can be brought against New England is not Puritanism but February."

"Janus was invoked at the commencement of most actions; even in the worship of the other gods the votary began by offering wine and incense to Janus. The first month in the year was named from him; and under the title of Matutinus he was regarded as the opener of the day. Hence he had charge of the gates of Heaven, and hence, too, all gates, Januæ, were called after him, and supposed to be under his care. Hence, perhaps, it was, that he was represented with a staff and key, and that he was named the Opener (Patulcius), and the Shutter (Clusius)."

"That blasts of January Would blow you through and through."

"My idea of movie hell is a place where the floors stick, the sound is half a second out of sync, the person behind me repeats every punchline to his companion and the only films to be seen are the kind that get released in January. It's well known that January films have a character that is, let us say, distinctive. That isn't to call them the year's worst—though many January films certainly have tendencies in that direction—but merely to point out how peculiar they can be. January is to film releasing roughly what the Bermuda Triangle is to navigation ... What is it that leads film distributors to regard January as just the right resting place for so many flukes, black sheep, wild cards and also-rans? Whatever it is, it seems to exert an irresistible pull."

"In the US, January is "dump month" at the movies. The films no studios believe in or care about—the stuff that doesn't get screened for critics, the stuff that barely gets promoted beyond blurbs from obscure websites and suspicious raves from local TV chefs and weathermen—suddenly become the sole choice available to regular filmgoers hungry for fresh fare.A mere matter of days after American screens have been filled with the finest achievements of contemporary cinema (not to mention Dreamgirls) everything changes."

"If a movie has the makings of a blockbuster and it's getting released in January or February, then it's fairly safe to assume that it sucks. Take Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters as an example. It's got fairy tale/fantasy cred and tons of CGI violence; it’s got a big, bad witch; it's got Academy Award nominee Jeremy Renner. If this flick were any good, it would be coming out in June."

"A proper January movie gets released to thousands of theaters at once—a studio's way of gritting its teeth and ripping off the Band-Aid ... The marketing plan for a film like this is often just a formal wake, the last stop before a film's reincarnation as generic product for the on-demand/DVD/streaming after-markets."

"A June bad movie has way too much money riding on it to be anything but mediocre and boring. With hundreds of millions of dollars on the line, a crummy June film is going to be test marketed and reshot and reedited to within an inch of its life. By the time it makes its way to you, if it's not working, anything interesting or unusual in it will have been focus-grouped into oblivion so the studio can protect their enormous investment.A January bad movie, on the other hand, receives no such care (or meddling). Why throw good money after bad? Just cut your losses and let the thing really suck. And that's how you wind up with a movie like The Devil Inside, which is so intensely stupid it's almost brilliant—and entirely entertaining. To put it another way: in January, you get trainwrecks. In June, you get controlled demolitions ... In other words, with low financial risk comes the opportunity for high creative risk, an agreeable quality shared by many January releases"

"The only people who are going to see movies at that time are over the age of 35; who have savings accounts and weren't tapped out by Christmas. That's why Taken was such a hit and why Clint Eastwood movies tend to do so well in January. They are made for an audience that still has money. They release the Oscar bait movies, which play to that crowd, and then you just get this terrible sprinkling of crap."

"It's easy to kill a movie. Just move it to January."

"Japanese folklore tells of a practice called ubasute—literally "abandoning an old woman"—in which villagers would carry their elderly and burdensome relatives to the peak of a mountain or some other similarly desolate place and leave them there to die ... In the film business, ubasute is an all-too-real phenomenon, and it happens in full view of the public. Every year, during the first proper weekend of January, the studios’ niche labels trot out the horror movies they know have nothing to contribute to society and leave them for dead in your local multiplex, hoping that the release might make life simpler by turning a tidy profit and easing the company balance sheets.All of this is to say that anybody with access to a calendar already knows that The Forest is bad; at this point, that's less of a presumption than it is a tradition. The only question worth asking about an early January horror movie is if its inevitable badness is at all interesting."

"Purple loosestrife arrived early, shaking luxuriant locks along the edge of the mirror whence its own face laughed back at it. Willow-herb, tender and wistful, like a pink sunset-cloud was not slow to follow. Comfrey, the purple hand-in-hand with the white, crept forth to take its place in the line; and at last one morning the diffident and delaying dog-rose stepped delicately on the stage, and one knew, as if string music has announced it in stately chords that strayed into a gavotte, that June at last was here."

"So sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing, So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see; So blithe and gay the humming-bird a-going From flower to flower, a-hunting with the bee."

"Do you recall that night in June Upon the Danube River; We listened to the ländler-tune, We watched the moonbeams quiver."

"I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain-turf should break."

"What joy have I in June's return? My feet are parched—my eyeballs burn, I scent no flowery gust; But faint the flagging Zephyr springs, With dry Macadam on its wings, And turns me "dust to dust.""

"June falls asleep upon her bier of flowers; In vain are dewdrops sprinkled o'er her, In vain would fond winds fan her back to life, Her hours are numbered on the floral dial."

"And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays."

"It is the month of June, The month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes And pleasant scents the noses."

"March. Its tree, Juniper. Its stone, Bloodstone. Its motto, "Courage and strength in times of danger.""

"Ah, March! we know thou art Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!"

"Slayer of the winter, art thou here again? O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh! The bitter wind makes not the victory vain, Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky."

"The ides of March are come."

"In fierce March weather White waves break tether, And whirled together At either hand, Like weeds uplifted, The tree-trunks rifted In spars are drifted, Like foam or sand."

"With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!"

"All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all; The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul."

"Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing Under the sky's gray arch; Smiling I watch the shaken elm boughs, knowing It is the wind of March."

"Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping—anon—anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone."

"Hebe's here, May is here! The air is fresh and sunny; And the miser-bees are busy Hoarding golden honey."

"As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made."

"Spring's last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet, Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet, And golden locks in breezy play, Half teasing and half tender, to repeat Her song of "May.""

"But winter lingering chills the lap of May."

"Sweet May hath come to love us, Flowers, trees, their blossoms don; And through the blue heavens above us The very clouds move on."

"O month when they who love must love and wed."

"O May, sweet-voiced one, going thus before, Forever June may pour her warm red wine Of life and passion,—sweeter days are thine!"

"Oh! that we two were Maying Down the stream of the soft spring breeze; Like children with violets playing, In the shade of the whispering trees."

"Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May: Waiting for the pleasant rambles Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way; Ah! my heart is weary, waiting, Waiting for the May."

"Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing, Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long."

"In the under-wood and the over-wood There is murmur and trill this day, For every bird is in lyric mood, And the wind will have its way."

"As full of spirit as the month of May."

"No doubt they rose up early to observe The rite of May."

"In beauty as the first of May."

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May."

"More matter for a May morning."

"Another May new buds and flowers shall bring: Ah! why has happiness no second Spring?"

"When May, with cowslip-braided locks, Walks through the land in green attire, And burns in meadow-grass the phlox His torch of purple fire: * * * * * * And when the punctual May arrives, With cowslip-garland on her brow, We know what once she gave our lives, And cannot give us now!"

"For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May."

"Among the changing months, May stands confest The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed."

"May, queen of blossoms, And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music Shall we charm the hours? Wilt thou have pipe and reed, Blown in the open mead? Or to the lute give heed In the green bowers?"

"For every marriage then is best in tune, When that the wife is May, the husband June."

"What is so sweet and dear As a prosperous morn in May, The confident prime of the day, And the dauntless youth of the year, When nothing that asks for bliss, Asking aright, is denied, And half of the world a bridegroom is And half of the world a bride?"

"November's night is dark and drear, The dullest month of all the year."

"On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered; Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee, Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree."

"When shrieked The bleak November winds, and smote the woods, And the brown fields were herbless, and the shades That met above the merry rivulet Were spoiled, I sought, I loved them still; they seemed Like old companions in adversity."

"The dusky waters shudder as they shine, The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define, And the gaunt woods, in ragged scant array, Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twine."

"Dry leaves upon the wall, Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, A single frosted cluster on the grape Still hangs—and that is all."

"Fie upon thee, November! thou dost ape The airs of thy young sisters, * * * thou hast stolen The witching smile of May to grace thy lip, And April's rare capricious loveliness Thou'rt trying to put on!"

"My sorrow when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane."

"No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility— No company—no nobility— No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease. No comfortable feel in any member— No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!"

"The dead leaves their rich mosaics Of olive and gold and brown Had laid on the rain-wet pavements, Through all the embowered town."

"Now Neptune's sullen month appears, The angry night cloud swells with tears, And savage storms infuriate driven, Fly howling in the face of heaven! Now, now, my friends, the gathering gloom With roseate rays of wine illume: And while our wreaths of parsley spread Their fadeless foliage round our head, We'll hymn th' almighty power of wine, And shed libations on his shrine!"

"The wild November come at last Beneath a veil of rain; The night wind blows its folds aside, Her face is full of pain. The latest of her race, she takes The Autumn's vacant throne: She has but one short moon to live, And she must live alone."

"Wrapped in his sad-colored cloak, the Day, like a Puritan, standeth Stern in the joyless fields, rebuking the lingering color,— Dying hectic of leaves and the chilly blue of the asters,— Hearing, perchance, the croak of a crow on the desolate tree-top."

"And night descended, October releasing winter to creep forth from its crypt."

"October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers; Soon these will slip from out the twig's weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers."

"And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death."

"The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mould The purple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough Drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold."

"There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir: We must rise and follow her, When from every hill of flame She calls, and calls each vagabond by name."

"Is it the shrewd October wind Brings the tears into her eyes? Does it blow so strong that she must fetch Her breath in sudden sighs?"

"October's foliage yellows with his cold."

"No clouds are in the morning sky, The vapors hug the stream, Who says that life and love can die In all this northern gleam? At every turn the maples burn, The quail is whistling free, The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs Are dropping for you and me. Ho! hillyho! heigh O! Hillyho! In the clear October morning."

"And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood."

"Nature delights me most when she mourns"

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."

"Summer has come and passed: The innocent can never last; wake me up when September ends."

"O sweet September, thy first breezes bring The dry leaf's rustle and the squirrel's laughter, The cool fresh air whence health and vigor spring And promise of exceeding joy hereafter."

"Do you remember, the 21st night of September? Love was changing the minds of pretenders, while chasing the clouds away."

"It was the third of September: That day, I'll always remember. Yes I will, because that was the day that my daddy died."

"The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if new-born; There was that nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet."

"Come out 'tis now September, The hunter's moon's begun, And through the wheaten stubble Is heard the frequent gun."

"The sultry summer past, September comes, Soft twilight of the soft-declining year. All mildness, soothing loneliness and peace; The fading season ere the falling come."

"Oh to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England - now!"

"Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale fowles maken melodye, That slepen al the night with open yë, (So priketh hem nature in hir corages): Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages (And palmers for to seken straunge strondes) To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes; And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke."

"April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers."

"By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world."

"Of all the months that fill the year Give April's month to me, For earth and sky are then so filled With sweet variety !"

"Will you not come home, brother? you have been long away, It's April, and blossom time, and white is the spray; And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the rain, -­ Will you not come home, brother, home to us again?"

"I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain: I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils, Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain."

"Praise the spells and bless the charms, I found April in my arms. April golden, April cloudy, Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy; April soft in flowered languor, April cold with sudden anger, Ever changing, ever true— I love April, I love you."

"If April showers Should come your way, They bring the flowers That bloom in May."

"April, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears! April, that mine ears Like a lover greetest, If I tell thee, sweetest, All my hopes and fears, April, April, Laugh thy golden laughter, But, the moment after, Weep thy golden tears!"

"When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices to humming birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky."

"Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May New blooming blossoms 'neath the sun are born, And all poor April's charms are swept away."

"Every tear is answered by a blossom, Every sigh with songs and laughter blent, Apple-blooms upon the breezes toss them. April knows her own, and is content."

"Now the noisy winds are still; April's coming up the hill! All the spring is in her train, Led by shining ranks of rain; Pit, pat, patter, clatter, Sudden sun and clatter patter! * * * * * All things ready with a will, April's coming up the hill!"

"The April winds are magical, And thrill our tuneful frames; The garden-walks are passional To bachelors and dames."

"Oh, the lovely fickleness of an April day!"

"Make me over, Mother April, When the sap begins to stir! When thy flowery hand delivers All the mountain-prisoned rivers, And thy great heart beats and quivers, To revive the days that were."

"For April sobs while these are so glad April weeps while these are so gay,— Weeps like a tired child who had, Playing with flowers, lost its way."

"The children with the streamlets sing, When April stops at last her weeping; And every happy growing thing Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping."

"I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming on of storms."

"Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed."

"Sweet April-time—O cruel April-time! Year after year returning, with a brow Of promise, and red lips with longing paled, And backward-hidden hands that clutch the joys Of vanished springs, like flowers."

"The first of April, some do say Is set apart for All Fools' Day; But why the people call it so, Nor I, nor they themselves, do know."

"The lyric sound of laughter Fills all the April hills, The joy-song of the crocus, The mirth of daffodils."

"When well apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads."

"When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim Hath put a spirit of youth in everything."

"Spongy April."

"Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May"

"A gush of bird-song, a patter of dew, A cloud, and a rainbow's warning, Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue— An April day in the morning."

"Sweet April showers Do bring May flowers."

"Again the blackbirds sing; the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the maple flowers."

"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."

"The English winter — ending in July, To recommence in August."

"Loud is the summer's busy song The smallest breeze can find a tongue, While insects of each tiny size Grow teasing with their melodies, Till noon burns with its blistering breath Around, and day lies still as death."

"Hot July brings cooling showers, Apricots and gillyflowers."

"Answer July — Where is the Bee — Where is the Blush — Where is the Hay? Ah, said July — Where is the Seed — Where is the Bud — Where is the May — Answer Thee — Me—"

"The flames kindled on the 4th of July 1776, have spread over too much of the globe to be extinguished by the feeble engines of despotism; on the contrary, they will consume these engines and all who work them."

"We go in withering July To ply the hard incessant hoe; Panting beneath the brazen sky We sweat and grumble, but we go."

"The Summer looks out from her brazen tower, Through the flashing bars of July."

"Many public-school children seem to know only two dates: 1492 and 4th of July; and as a rule they don't know what happened on either occasion."

"In July the Sun is hot. Is it shining? No, it's not!"

"A swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay. A swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon. A swarm of bees in July is not worth a fly."

"If the first of July be rainy weather, It will rain, more of less, for four weeks together."

"The glowing Ruby should adorn Those who in warm July are born, Then will they be exempt and free From love's doubt and anxiety."

"Here men from the planet Earth first set foot upon the Moon. July 1969 AD. We came in peace for all mankind."

"Tomorrow (2 April 2022), Muslims in Canada and around the world will mark the start of Ramadan. One of the five pillars of Islam, this month-long spiritual journey is a time of fasting, charity and prayer. At the end of each day, families and friends will traditionally gather to enjoy iftar – the meal that breaks their fast at sunset. Ramadan is a special time to show gratitude for the many blessings we share, and reflect on values of peace, compassion and generosity. These same values have helped us all through challenging times these past two years, and will continue to help us as we recover from the pandemic and look ahead with optimism and hope. Ramadan is also an opportunity to recognize the many contributions Muslim Canadians have made and continue to make to our country. Every day, they help build a better Canada by giving back to those less fortunate with zakat contributions, by volunteering to serve important causes, and through their consistent acts of kindness for their communities and neighbors."

"(First lady) Jill and I extend our best wishes to Muslim communities here in the US and around the world on the beginning of the blessed month of Ramadan. Communities come together to practice forgiveness and resilience, to show compassion and generosity of spirit to those in need, of giving and to celebrate the many blessings of life with loved ones."

"The month of Ramadan carries enduring moral values: humanity, compassion, mercy."