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;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the
tender grape, give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one,
and come away.
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Starred forget-me-nots smile sweetly,
Ring, bluebells, ring!
Winning eye and heart completely,
Sing, robin, read more
Starred forget-me-nots smile sweetly,
Ring, bluebells, 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!
Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours
Fair Venus' train appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
read more
Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours
Fair Venus' train appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year.
Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here
Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year.
. . read more
Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here
Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year.
. . . .
The Rose still blushes, and the vi'lets blow.
Daughter of heaven and earth, coy Spring,
With sudden passion languishing,
Teaching barren moors to smile,
read more
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.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
read more
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea.
A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King.
A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King.
Spring makes its own statement, so loud and clear that the gardener seems to be only one of the instruments, read more
Spring makes its own statement, so loud and clear that the gardener seems to be only one of the instruments, not the composer.
For surely in the blind deep-buried roots
Of all men's souls to-day
A secret quiver shoots.
For surely in the blind deep-buried roots
Of all men's souls to-day
A secret quiver shoots.
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night
With comfort are downward gazing.
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night
With comfort are downward gazing.
