In August, neither ask for olives, chesnuts, nor acorns.
January commits the fault, and May bears the blame.
A year of snow, a year of plenty.
French.
When it thunders in March, we may cry Alas!
A dry year never beggars the master.
An evening red, and a morning grey, makes a pilgrim sing.
January or February do fill or empty the granary.
A dry March, a snowy February, a moist April, and a dry May, presage a good year.
To St. Valentine the spring is a neighbour.