spring

Winter is already a lost shape, forgottenin the ground. Instead, here is Springwith all the grace of a womansmoothing out her apron.

Here, also, the future was cried aloud by the wind through the rocks, so that all those who heard would shiver, and then the liquid spring song of the thrush would make all the beauty of moonlight and sunlight blend together, making it true, so true, that happiness must come again

Spring time is a time for new adventure.

The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes.

People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.

Gratitude is a harbinger of healing, the first robin of spring.

There are no secrets, there is no mystery. We make that all up. In fact, it's all right there in front of us. You have to have enough food to get through winter and spring. That's what it all comes down to. You have to live in a way that will gather enough food each fall to get through winter.

But now it was spring again, and spring was almost unbearable for sensitive hearts. It drove creation to its utmost limits, it wafted its spice-laden breath even into the nostrils of the innocent.

Enjoy the stillness, sweet snail! Savor the spring breeze while it still means something! Soon enough, like summer tempests your tears will come!

Spring is the season of restoration of all living things.

Spring is the sacred soul of fertility.

Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It__ a sad season of life without growth_It has no day.

I love the smell of rain and growing things.

Be as peaceful as a dancing spring flower.

Don't forget to enjoy the winter, but never give up hopes for the spring.

Change like a treeWhen it is winterDon__ complain or fearJust wait for the spring To bloom and sing

O, flower! If you bloom with love in spring, will you understand if my soul sings?

Love must be as beautiful as spring flowers and as bright as the morning sun.