SPRING.
So forth issewed the Seasons of the yeare:
First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of flowres
That freshly budded and new bloomes did beare,
In which a thousand birds had built their bowres
That sweetly sung to call forth paramours;
And in his hand a javelin he did beare,
And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures)
A guilt, engraven morion he did weare:
That, as some did him love, so others did him feare.
Faërie Queen, Bk. VII. E. SPENSER.
The stormy March has come at last,
With winds and clouds and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast
That through the snowy valley flies.
March. W.C. BRYANT.
March! A cloudy stream is flowing,
And a hard, steel blast is blowing;
Bitterer now than I remember
Ever to have felt or seen,
In the depths of drear December,
When the white doth hide the green.
March, April, May. B.W. PROCTER (Barry Cornwall).
A gush of bird-song, a patter of dew,
A cloud, and a rainbow's warning,
Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue—
An April day in the morning.
April. H.P. SPOFFORD.
O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day!
The Tempest, Act i. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
When proud-pied April, dressed all in his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
Sonnet XCVIII. SHAKESPEARE.
Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come.
The Seasons: Spring. J. THOMSON.
But yesterday all life in bud was hid;
But yesterday the grass was gray and sere;
To-day the whole world decks itself anew
In all the glorious beauty of the year.
Sudden Spring in New England. C. WELSH.
When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers.
The Fountains. W.C. BRYANT.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea.
Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots. R. BURNS.
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.
May Day. R.W. EMERSON.
Spring's last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet,
Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet,
And golden locks in breezy play,
Half teasing and half tender, to repeat
Her song of "May."
May. S.C. WOOLSEY (Susan Coolidge).
For May wol have no slogardie a-night.
The seson priketh every gentil herte,
And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte.
Canterbury Tales: The Knightes Tale. CHAUCER.
When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight.
Love's Labor's Lost, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE.