The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
read more

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.

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.

Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn.

Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn.

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.

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
read more

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

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.

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.

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.

I come, I come! ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountain with light and song:
read more

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.