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- In the spring,
- at the end of the day,
- you should smell like dirt.
MARGARET ATWOOD, Woman's Day Magazine, Apr. 1, 2007
- Only to children children sing,
- Only to youth will spring be spring.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON, The Harp
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
ANNE BRADSTREET, Meditations Divine and Moral
- Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy Spring,
- With sudden passion languishing,
- Teaching Barren moors to smile,
- Painting pictures mile on mile,
- Holds a cup with cowslip-wreaths,
- Whence a smokeless incense breathes.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON, May-Day
Spring is nature's way of saying, "Let's party!"
ROBIN WILLIAMS, Woman's Day Magazine, Apr. 1, 2007
- All things seem mention of themselves
- And the names which stem from them branch out to other referents.
- Hugely, spring exists again.
JOHN ASHBERY, "Grand Galop"
- Spring is strong and virtuous,
- Broad-sowing, cheerful, plenteous,
- Quickening underneath the mould
- Grains beyond the price of gold.
- So deep and large her bounties are,
- That one broad, long midsummer day
- Shall to the planet overpay
- The ravage of a year of war.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON, May-Day
- For thou, O Spring! canst renovate
- All that high God did first create.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON, May-Day
- The clamours of spring are the same old delicate noises,
- The earth renews its magical youth at a breath.
ARTHUR SYMONS, "The Coming of Spring"
Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.
DOUG LARSON, Woman's Day Magazine, Apr. 1, 2007
- In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast;
- In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;
- 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.
ALFRED TENNYSON, Locksley Hall
- And look upon the laughing earth,
- Where spring in careless play
- Puts forth its fairest blossoms, but
- To deck them with decay.
WILLIAM B. TAPPAN, "Beauty in the Grave"
I might mention all the divine charms of a bright spring day, but if you had never in your life utterly forgotten yourself in straining your eyes after the mounting lark, or in wandering through the still lanes when the fresh-opened blossoms fill them with a sacred silent beauty like that of fretted aisles, where would be the use of my descriptive catalogue?
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