The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent read more

The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its lovliness.

I come, I come! ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountain with light and song:
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I come, I come! ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountain with light and song:
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves, opening as I pass.

Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours
Fair Venus' train appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
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Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours
Fair Venus' train appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
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The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.

It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.

It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.

Life stands before me like an eternal spring with new and brilliant clothes.

Life stands before me like an eternal spring with new and brilliant clothes.

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!

Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.

Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.

They know who keep a broken tryst,
Till something from the Spring be missed
We have not read more

They know who keep a broken tryst,
Till something from the Spring be missed
We have not truly known the Spring.