seasons

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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

"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."

"...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..."

"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"

"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?"

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

"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 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."

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

"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."

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

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

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

"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."

"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."

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

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

"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."

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

"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."

"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?"

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

"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!"

"Sumer is y cumen in."

"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.""

"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?""

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

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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

"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."

"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."

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

"Summer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu!"

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