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,
Of if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet moon.
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Indoors or out, no one relaxes in March, that month of wind and taxes, the wind will presently disappear, the read more
Indoors or out, no one relaxes in March, that month of wind and taxes, the wind will presently disappear, the taxes last us all the year.
A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the read more
A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.
Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
Spring is nature's way of saying, "Let's party!"
Spring is nature's way of saying, "Let's party!"
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's read more
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.
Spring is God's way of saying, 'One more time!'
Spring is God's way of saying, 'One more time!'
Our seasons have no fixed returns,
Without our will they come and go;
At noon our sudden read more
Our seasons have no fixed returns,
Without our will they come and go;
At noon our sudden summer burns,
Ere sunset all is snow.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with read more
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
read more
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.
