Seasons

"Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch Smokes in the sunthaw; whether the eve-drops fall, Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet moon."

"What does winter or autumn or spring or summer know of memory. They know nothing of memory. They know that seasons pass and return. They know that they are seasons. That they are time. And they know how to affirm themselves. And they know how to impose themselves. And they know how to maintain themselves, What does autumn know of summer. What sorrows do seasons have. None hate. None love. They just pass."

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace."

"Nuto, who had never really gone away, still wanted to understand the world and change it, and upset the cycle of the seasons. Or perhaps he didn't, and still believed only in the moon. But I, who didn't believe in the moon, knew that when all was said and done only the seasons matter and they are in your bones and they nurtured you when you were a boy."

"Our seasons have no fixed returns, Without our will they come and go; At noon our sudden summer burns, Ere sunset all is snow."

"Autumn to winter, winter into spring, Spring into summer, summer into fall.— So rolls the changing year, and so we change; Motion so swift, we know not that we move."

"January grey is here, Like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, March with grief doth howl and rave, And April weeps—but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers."

"Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade."

"Last we consider the time of their coming, the season of the year. It was no summer progress. A cold coming they had of it at this time of the year, just the worst time of the year to take a journey, and specially a long journey. The ways deep, the weather sharp, the days short, the sun farthest off, in solsitio brumali, the very dead of winter."

"Wynter wakeneth al my care, Nou this leves waxeth bare; Ofte I sike ant mourne sare When hit cometh in my thoht Of this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht."

"This winters weather waxeth cold, And frost doth freese on every hill, And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold That all our cattell are like to spill."

"These Winter nights against my window-pane Nature with busy pencil draws designs Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines, Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines, Which she will make when summer comes again— Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold, Like curious Chinese etchings."

"O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark, Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car."

"When now, unsparing as the scourge of war, Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar; Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows, No nourishment in frozen pasture grows; Yet frozen pastures every morn resound With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground."

"Look! the massy trunks Are cased in the pure crystal; each light spray, Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven, Is studded with its trembling water-drops, That glimmer with an amethystine light."

"Yet all how beautiful! Pillars of pearl Propping the cliffs above, stalactites bright From the ice roof depending; and beneath, Grottoes and temples with their crystal spires And gleaming columns radiant in the sun."

"The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter had given the bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and the blood."

"But howling Winter fled afar To hills that prop the polar star; And loves on deer-borne car to ride, With barren darkness at his side, Round the shore where loud Lofoden Whirls to death the roaring whale, Round the hall where Runic Odin Howls his war-song to the gale."

"The frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind."

"Every Fern is tucked and set, 'Neath coverlet, Downy and soft and warm."

"O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know."

"There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons – That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes –"

"Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers."

"Observe and see how (in the winter) all the trees seem as though they had withered and shed all their leaves, except fourteen trees, which do not lose their foliage but retain the old foliage from two to three years till the new comes."

"Do not want to go out in fridge-crossed-with-swimming-pool-like world."

"’Tis a dull sight To see the year dying, When winter winds Set the yellow wood sighing: Sighing, O sighing!"

"On that winter day when Nature was deep in her annual slumber and seemed to have kicked the clothes off. Copses, dells, quarries and all hidden places, which had been mysterious mines for exploration in leafy summer, now exposed themselves and their secrets."

"On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence."

"His breath like silver arrows pierced the air, The naked earth crouched shuddering at his feet, His finger on all flowing waters sweet Forbidding lay—motion nor sound was there:— Nature was frozen dead,—and still and slow, A winding sheet fell o'er her body fair, Flaky and soft, from his wide wings of snow."

"Every winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables, Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay— Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses."

"Never tell me of the sterner beauties of winter. Winter may have a mighty beauty of its own, where the mountain rises, white with the snow of a thousand years, hemmed in by black pine forests, eternal in their gloom; where the overhanging avalanche makes terrible even the slightest sound of the human voice ; and where waters that never flowed spread the glittering valleys with the frost-work of the measureless past. But the characteristic of English scenery is loveliness. We look for the verdant green of her fields, for the colours of her wild and garden flowers, for daisies universal as hope, and for the cheerful hedges, so various in leaf and bud. Winter comes to us with gray mists and drizzling rains: now and then, for a day, the frost creates its own fragile and fairy world of gossamer; but not often. We see the desolate trees, bleak and bare; the dreary meadows, the withered gardens, and close door and window, to exclude the fog and the east wind."

"Up rose the wild old winter-king, And shook his beard of snow; "I hear the first young hare-bell ring, 'Tis time for me to go! Northward o'er the icy rocks, Northward o'er the sea, My daughter comes with sunny locks: This land's too warm for me!""

"Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river, Ever deeper, deeper, deeper Fell the snow o’er all the landscape, Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village."

"Clouded with snow The bleak winds blow, And shrill on leafless bough The robin with its burning breast Alone sings now."

"Winter is Coming."

"But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews; Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse; Sharp Boreas blows, and nature feels decay, Time conquers all, and we must time obey."

"Winter is icummen in, Lhude sing Goddamm, Raineth drop and staineth slop, And how the wind doth ramm! Sing: Goddamm."

"In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan; Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago."

"Wintry boughs against a wintry sky; Yet the sky is partly blue And the clouds are partly bright:— Who can tell but sap is mounting high Out of sight, Ready to burst through?"

"Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, "This is no flattery.""

"Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly that way."

"When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson’s saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian’s nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl."

"How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!"

"O, wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"

"In winter, when the dismal rain Came down in slanting lines, And Wind, that grand old harper, smote His thunder-harp of pines."

"Lastly came Winter cloathed all in frize, Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill; Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freese, And the dull drops, that from his purpled bill As from a limebeck did adown distill: In his right hand a tipped staffe he held, With which his feeble steps he stayed still; For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld; That scarce his loosed limbes he hable was to weld."

"Under the snow-drifts the blossoms are sleeping, Dreaming their dreams of sunshine and June, Down in the hush of their quiet they're keeping Trills from the throstle's wild summer-sung tune."

"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."

"She wanders to an iceberg oriflammed With rayed, auroral guidons of the North— Wherein hath winter hidden ardent gems And treasuries of frozen anadems, Alight with timid sapphires of the snow."

"See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train; Vapors, and Clouds, and Storms."

"Through the hush'd air the whitening Shower descends, At first thin wavering; till at last the Flakes Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day With a continual flow. The cherished Fields Put on their winter-robe of purest white, 'Tis brightness all; save where the new Snow melts Along the mazy current."

"Dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns, tremendous, o'er the conquer'd Year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends His desolate domain."

"Many of the phenomena of Winter are suggestive of an inexpressible tenderness and fragile delicacy. We are accustomed to hear this king described as a rude and boisterous tyrant; but with the gentleness of a lover he adorns the tresses of Summer."

"Make we here our camp of winter; And, through sleet and snow, Pitchy knot and beechen splinter On our hearth shall glow. Here, with mirth to lighten duty, We shall lack alone Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, Childhood's lisping tone."

"What miracle of weird transforming Is this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite?"

"Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound."

"It was autumn, and he always liked autumn. Something about early autumn, when the leaves began to flee before a northern breeze and the days shortened, gave an extra edge to existence."

"falling leaves hide the path so quietly"

"Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God; And only he who sees takes off his shoes; The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries."

"What does winter or autumn or spring or summer know of memory. They know nothing of memory. They know that seasons pass and return. They know that they are seasons. That they are time. And they know how to affirm themselves. And they know how to impose themselves. And they know how to maintain themselves. What does autumn know of summer. What sorrows do seasons have. None hate. None love. They just pass."

"If winter is slumber and spring is birth, and summer is life, then autumn rounds out to be reflection. It's a time of year when the leaves are down and the harvest is in and the perennials are gone. Mother Earth just closed up the drapes on another year and it's time to reflect on what's come before."

"The mellow autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket;—lynx-like is his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. Ah, nutbrown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!—'Tis no sport for peasants."

"Autumn is a second Spring when every leaf is a flower."

"October gave a party; The leaves by hundreds came - The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples, And leaves of every name. The Sunshine spread a carpet, And everything was grand, Miss Weather led the dancing, Professor Wind the band."

"Friends are like the autumn, every year they leaving."

"To me there is no season so lovely as the autumn. There is a gayety about the spring with which I have no sympathy: its perpetual revival of leaf and bloom is too great a contrast to the inner world, where so many feelings lie barren, and so many hopes withered. There is an activity about it, from which the wearied spirits shrink; and a joyousness, which but makes you turn more sadly upon yourself; but about autumn there is a tender melancholy inexpressibly soothing ; decay is around, but such is in your own heart. There is a languor in the air which encourages your own, and the poetry of memory is in every drooping flower and falling leaf. The very magnificence of its Assyrian array is touched with the light of imagination : even while you watch it, it passes away as your brightest hopes have done before."

"Then came the Autumn, all in yellow clad, As though he joyed in his plenteous store, Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad That he had banished hunger, which before Had by the belly oft him pinched sore; Upon his head a wreath, that was enrolled With ears of corn of every sort, he bore, And in his hand a sickle he did hold, To reap the ripened fruits the which the earth had yold."

"For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad."

"Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on."

"To me it seems that youth is like spring, an overpraised season——delightful if it happen to be a favoured one, but in practice very rarely favoured and more remarkable, as a general rule, for biting east winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits."

"Autumn is the season of man, because it is like us: a death that is not without fruit."

"Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes, Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt."

"O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers."

"Autumn wins you best by this, its mute Appeal to sympathy for its decay."

"Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in their freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen."

"The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear."

"All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn."

"Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease, Of the southward flying swallow. Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden Autumn days."

"A breath, whence no man knows, Swaying the grating weeds, it blows; It comes, it grieves, it goes. Once it rocked the summer rose."

"I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;— Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn."

"The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying;— Old age, begin sighing!"

"The year's in the wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!"

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core."

"Third act of the eternal play! In poster-like emblazonries "Autumn once more begins today"— 'Tis written all across the trees In yellow letters like Chinese."

"It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves."

"What visionary tints the year puts on, When falling leaves falter through motionless air Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone! How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare, As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills The bowl between me and those distant hills, And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremulous hair!"

"Every season hath its pleasures; Spring may boast her flowery prime, Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time."

"Autumn Into earth's lap does throw Brown apples gay in a game of play, As the equinoctials blow."

"Sorrow and the scarlet leaf, Sad thoughts and sunny weather; Ah me! this glory and this grief Agree not well together!"

"Ye flowers that drop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing, Ye trees that fade, when Autumn heats remove, Say, is not absence death to those who love?"

"Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthened every shade."

"O, it sets my heart a clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock."

"This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun The day, though bough with bough be overrun. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation."

"The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying; And the year On the earth her deathbed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre."

"Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain, Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune That death smote silent when he smote again."

"Autumn has come; Storming now heaveth the deep sea with foam, Yet would I gratefully lie there, Willingly die there."

"How are the veins of thee, Autumn, laden? Umbered juices, And pulpèd oozes Pappy out of the cherry-bruises, Froth the veins of thee, wild, wild maiden. With hair that musters In globèd clusters, In tumbling clusters, like swarthy grapes, Round thy brow and thine ears o'ershaden; With the burning darkness of eyes like pansies, Like velvet pansies Where through escapes The splendid might of thy conflagrate fancies; With robe gold-tawny not hiding the shapes Of the feet whereunto it falleth down, Thy naked feet unsandalled; With robe gold-tawny that does not veil Feet where the red Is meshed in the brown, Like a rubied sun in a Venice-sail."

"We lack but open eye and ear To find the Orient's marvels here; The still small voice in autumn's hush, Yon maple wood the burning bush."

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

"Summer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu!"

"Summer has come and passed; the innocent can never last."

"Yeah, I like it when the girls stop by in the summer. Do you remember? Do you remember, when we met that summer? New Kids On The Block, had a bunch of hits. Chinese food makes me sick and I think it's fly when girls stop by for the summer... Think about that summer and I bug, because I miss it."

"The loorie brought to his cinnamon nest. The bee from the midst of its honey quest, And open the leaves of the lotus lay To welcome the noon of the summer day."

"That beautiful season the Summer of All-Saints! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood."

"Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows."

"But how many merry monthes be in the yeere? There are thirteen, I say; The midsummer moone is the merryest of all, Next to the merry month of May."

"The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Loch Katrine blue, Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy."

"Summer's parching heat."

"The middle summer's spring."

"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."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate:"

"Thy eternal summer shall not fade."

"Summer, summer, summertime time to sit back and unwind."

"Then came the jolly sommer, being dight In a thin silken cassock, coloured greene, That was unlyned all, to be more light."

"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."

"From brightening fields of ether fair-disclosed, Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth; He comes, attended by the sultry Hours, And ever-fanning breezes, on his way."

"All-conquering Heat, O, intermit thy wrath! And on my throbbing temples, potent thus, Beam not so fierce! incessant still you flow, And still another fervent flood succeeds, Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, And restless turn, and look around for night; Night is far off; and hotter Hours approach."

"Patient of thirst and toil, Son of the desert, e'en the Camel feels, Shot through his wither'd heart, the fiery blast."

"What does winter or autumn or spring or summer know of memory. They know nothing of memory. They know that seasons pass and return. They know that they are seasons. That they are time. And they know how to affirm themselves. And they know how to impose themselves. And they know how to maintain themselves. What does autumn know of summer. What sorrows do seasons have. None hate. None love. They just pass."

"And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer."

"In lang, lang days o' simmer, When the clear and cloudless sky Refuses ae wee drap o' rain To Nature parched and dry, The genial night, wi' balmy breath, Gars verdure spring anew, An' ilka blade o' grass Keps its ain drap o' dew."

"O thou who passest through our valleys in Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair."

"Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays."

"I question not if thrushes sing, If roses load the air; Beyond my heart I need not reach When all is summer there."

"The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul."

"Oh, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will, "Polly!—Polly!—The cows are in the corn! Oh, Where's Polly?""

"Here is the ghost Of a summer that lived for us, Here is a promise Of summer to be."

"All labourers draw hame at even, And can to others say, "Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, Whilk sent this summer day.""

"Sumer is y cumen in."

"As a lodge in a garden of cucumbers."

"O for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers! O for an iceberg or two at control! O for a vale that at midday the dew cumbers! O for a pleasure trip up to the pole!"

"Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity."

"O summer day beside the joyous sea! O summer day so wonderful and white, So full of gladness and so full of pain! Forever and forever shalt thou be To some the gravestone of a dead delight, To some the landmark of a new domain."

"Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes."

"But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye gods! and is there no relief for love?"

"Oh, the summer night Has a smile of light And she sits on a sapphire throne."

"Before green apples blush, Before green nuts embrown, Why, one day in the country Is worth a month in town."

"Heat, ma'am! it was so dreadful here, that I found there was nothing left for it but to take off my flesh and sit in my bones."

"Ring out the bells again; like we did when spring began."

"Is it so small a thing To have enjoy'd the sun, To have lived light in the spring, To have loved, to have thought, to have done; To have advanc'd true friends, and beat down baffling foes?"

"What does winter or autumn or spring or summer know of memory. They know nothing of memory. They know that seasons pass and return. They know that they are seasons. That they are time. And they know how to affirm themselves. And they know how to impose themselves. And they know how to maintain themselves, What does autumn know of summer. What sorrows do seasons have. None hate. None love. They just pass."

"The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearl'd; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn;God's in His heaven— All's right with the world!"

"There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of birds, in the ebb and flow of the tides; in the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in these repeated refrains of nature-the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter."

"Over increasingly large areas of the United States, spring now comes unheralded by the return of the birds, and the early mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with the beauty of bird song."

"The highroad was dry, the lovely April sun was shining warmly, but in the ditches and forest snow still lay on the ground. Harsh, dark, interminable winter was only just receding, and spring was suddenly here, but for Marya Vasilyevna, who sat now in the cart, there was nothing new or engaging in the warmth, or in the languid ethereal woods warming in the breath of spring, or in the black flocks flying off to the fields over giant puddles resembling lakes, or in the strange fathomless sky, into which, it seemed, one could escape with such pleasure."

"If there comes a little thaw, Still the air is chill and raw. Here and there a patch of snow, Dirtier than the ground below, Dribbles down a marshy flood; Ankle-deep you stick in mud In the meadows, — while you sing, "This is Spring.""

"What a glorious time of the year is this! With the warm sun travelling through serene skies, the air clear and fresh above you, which instils new blood in the body, making one defiantly tramp the earth, kicking the snows aside in the scorn of action."

"Listen, can you hear it? Spring's sweet cantata. The strains of grass pushing through the snow. The song of buds swelling on the vine. The tender timpani of a baby robin's heart. Spring."

"And we will know, we will pursue to know Jehovah. Like dawn, his going forth is firmly established. And he will come in like a pouring rain to us; like a spring rain that saturates [the] earth."

"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."

"You sons of Zion, be joyful and rejoice in Jehovah your God; for he will give you the autumn rain in the right amount, and he will send upon you a downpour, the autumn rain and the spring rain, as before. The threshing floors will be full of pure grain, and the presses will overflow with new wine and oil. And I will make compensation to you for the years that the swarming locust, the unwinged locust, the voracious locust, and the devouring locust have eaten, my great army that I sent among you."

"Snow-dropped, crocused, and violeted Spring, in the country, was beginning to consider about making her will, and leaving her legacies of full-blown flowers and green fruit to Summer"

"...the sun had come back over the Forest, bringing with it the scent of May, and all the streams of the Forest were tinkling happily to find themselves their own pretty shape again, and the little pools lay dreaming of the life they had seen and the big things they had done, and in the warmth and quiet of the Forest the cuckoo was trying over his voice carefully and listening to see if he liked it, and wood-pigeons were complaining gently to themselves in their lazy comfortable way that it was the other fellow's fault, but it didn't matter very much..."

"Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king"

"The flowers anew returning seasons bring, But beauty faded has no second spring."

"O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day!"

"O Spring, of hope and love and youth and gladness Wind-wingèd emblem! brightest, best and fairest! Whence comest thou, when, with dark Winter's sadness The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest? Sister of joy! thou art the child who wearest Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet; Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet, Disturbing not the leaves which are her winding sheet."

"If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"

"Spring was late. Hardly a peewit, not a lark to hear. A drab disconsolate world."

"Dip down upon the northern shore, O sweet new year, delaying long; Thou doest expectant nature wrong, Delaying long; delay no more."

"In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love."

"The boyhood of the year."

"Come, gentle Spring; ethereal Mildness, come!"

"The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields, And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool, Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world."

"Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace: Throws out the snowdrop and the crocus first."

"All the efforts of several hundred thousand people, crowded in a small space, to disfigure the land on which they lived; all the stone they covered it with to keep it barren; how so diligently every sprouting blade of grass was removed; all the smoke of coal and naphtha; all the cutting down of trees and driving off of cattle could not shut out the spring, even from the city. The sun was shedding its light; the grass, revivified, was blooming forth, where it was left uncut, not only on the greenswards of the boulevard, but between the flag-stones, and the birches, poplars and wild-berry trees were unfolding their viscous leaves; the limes were unfolding their buds; the daws, sparrows and pigeons were joyfully making their customary nests, and the flies were buzzing on the sun-warmed walls. Plants, birds, insects and children were equally joyful. Only men—grown-up men—continued cheating and tormenting themselves and each other. People saw nothing holy in this spring morning, in this beauty of God's world—a gift to all living creatures—inclining to peace, good-will and love, but worshiped their own inventions for imposing their will on each other."

"Nunc omnis ager, nunc omnis parturit arbor; Nunc frondent sylvae, nunc formosissimus annus."

"Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And ’tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes."

"As quickly as the ice vanishes when the Father unlooses the frost fetters and unwounds the icy ropes of the torrent."

"Now Spring returns; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health have flown."

"Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea."

"And the spring comes slowly up this way."

"Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze."

"Starred forget-me-nots smile sweetly, Ring, blue-bells, ring! Winning eye and heart completely, Sing, robin, sing! All among the reeds and rushes, Where the brook its music hushes, Bright the caloposon blushes.— Laugh, O murmuring Spring!"

"Daughter of heaven and earth, coy Spring, With sudden passion languishing, Teaching barren moors to smile, Painting pictures mile on mile, Holds a cup of cowslip wreaths Whence a smokeless incense breathes."

"Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdure here Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful Year. * * * * * * The Rose still blushes, and the vi'lets blow."

"Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours Fair Venus' train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year."

"When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil."

"The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling; The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling."

"The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing."

"I come, I come! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountain with light and song: Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves, opening as I pass."

"Sweet Spring, full of sweet dayes and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My musick shows ye have your closes, And all must die."

"For surely in the blind deep-buried roots Of all men's souls to-day A secret quiver shoots."

"They know who keep a broken tryst, Till something from the Spring be missed We have not truly known the Spring."

"All flowers of Spring are not May's own; The crocus cannot often kiss her; The snow-drop, ere she comes, has flown:— The earliest violets always miss her."

"And softly came the fair young queen O'er mountain, dale, and dell; And where her golden light was seen An emerald shadow fell. The good-wife oped the window wide, The good-man spanned his plough; 'Tis time to run, 'tis time to ride, For Spring is with us now."

"The lovely town was white with apple-blooms, And the great elms o'erhead Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms, Shot through with golden thread."

"Came the Spring with all its splendor, All its birds and all its blossoms, All its flowers, and leaves, and grasses."

"Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of blossoms and music, Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air with melodies vernal."

"The holy spirit of the Spring Is working silently."

"Awake! the morning shines, and the fresh field Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove, What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, How nature paints her colours, how the bee Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet."

"On many a green branch swinging, Little birdlets singing Warble sweet notes in the air. Flowers fair There I found. Green spread the meadow all around."

"Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose, That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang Ah whence and whither flown again, who knows?"

"Gentle Spring!—in sunshine clad, Well dost thou thy power display! For Winter maketh the light heart sad, And thou,—thou makest the sad heart gay."

"Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise, To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies, To listen to Earth's weary voices, Louder every day, Bidding her no longer linger On her charm'd way; But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun."

"I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun, And crocus fires are kindling one by one."

"There is no time like Spring, When life's alive in everything, Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track."

"Spring flies, and with it all the train it leads: And flowers, in fading, leave us but their seeds."

"I sing the first green leaf upon the bough, The tiny kindling flame of emerald fire, The stir amid the roots of reeds, and how The sap will flush the briar."

"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 turtle is heard in our land."

"So forth issew'd the Seasons of the yeare: First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of flowres That freshly budded and new bloomes did beare, In which a thousand birds had built their bowres That sweetly sung to call forth paramours; And in his hand a javelin he did beare, And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures) A guilt, engraven morion he did weare: That, as some did him love, so others did him feare."

"Now the hedged meads renew Rustic odor, smiling hue, And the clean air shines and twinkles as the world goes wheeling through; And my heart springs up anew, Bright and confident and true, And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew."

"It is the season now to go About the country high and low, Among the lilacs hand in hand, And two by two in fairyland."

"O tender time that love thinks long to see, Sweet foot of Spring that with her footfall sows Late snow-like flowery leavings of the snows, Be not too long irresolute to be; O mother-month, where have they hidden thee?"

"Once more the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And domes the red-plough'd hills With loving blue; The blackbirds have their wills, The throstles too."

"The bee buzz'd up in the heat, "I am faint for your honey, my sweet." The flower said, "Take it, my dear, For now is the Spring of the year. So come, come!" "Hum!" And the bee buzz'd down from the heat."

"'Tis spring-tune on the eastern hills! Like torrents gush the summer rills; Through winter's moss and dry dead leaves The bladed grass revives and lives, Pushes the mouldering waste away, And glimpses to the April day."

"And all the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of spring, And the rosebud breaks into pink on the climbing briar, And the crocus bed is a quivering moon of fire Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring."

"The Spring is here—the delicate footed May, With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers, And with it comes a thirst to be away, In lovelier scenes to pass these sweeter hours."