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 Now spring returns; but not to me returns
 The vernal joy my better years have known;
  Dim read more 
 Now spring returns; but not to me returns
 The vernal joy my better years have known;
  Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns,
   And all the joys of life with health have flown. 
 Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
 Is hung with bloom along the bough.  
 Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
 Is hung with bloom along the bough. 
 Now Nature hangs her mantle green
 On every blooming tree,
  And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
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 Now Nature hangs her mantle green
 On every blooming tree,
  And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
   Out o'er the grassy lea. 
A man has every season while a woman only has the right to spring.
A man has every season while a woman only has the right to spring.
No kind action ever stops with itself. One kind action leads to another. Good example is followed. A single act read more
No kind action ever stops with itself. One kind action leads to another. Good example is followed. A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves.
 in Just--
 spring when the world is mud--
  luscious the little
   lame balloonman
 read more 
 in Just--
 spring when the world is mud--
  luscious the little
   lame balloonman
    whistles far and wee 
 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. 
 April is the cruelest month, breeding
 Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
  Memory and desire, stirring
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 April is the cruelest month, breeding
 Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
  Memory and desire, stirring
   Dull roots with spring rain. 
 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.