Spring quotes and quotations
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
[Spring is] when life's alive in everything.
Listen, can you hear it? Spring's sweet cantata. The strains of grass pushing through the snow. The song of buds swelling on the vine. The tender timpani of a baby robin's heart. Spring.
Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneide
A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
Gentle Spring!--in sunshine clad, Well dost thou thy power display! For Winter maketh the light heart said, And thou,--makest the sad heart gay.
O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day!
An optimist is the human personification of spring.
Susan J. Bissonette
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.
[Spring is] a true reconstructionist.
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea.
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Well, spring sprang. We've had our state of grace and our little gift of sanctioned madness, courtesy of Mother Nature. Thanks, Gaia. Much obliged. I guess it's time to get back to that daily routine of living we like to call normal.
And the spring comes slowly up this way.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
For surely in the blind deep-buried roots Of all men's souls to-day A secret quiver shoots.
They know who keep a broken tryst, Till something from the Spring be missed We have not truly known the Spring.
Robert Underwood Johnson
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing.
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.
Robert Lee Frost
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.
Mrs. Felicia D. Hemans
Sweet Spring, full of sweet dayes and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My musick shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers: Of April, May, of June, and July flowers. I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.
Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year. . . . . The Rose still blushes, and the vi'lets blow.
Sir Samuel Garth
If there comes a little thaw, Still the air is chill and raw, Here and there a patch of snow, Dirtier than the ground below, Dribbles down a marshy flood; Ankle-deep you stick in mud In the meadows while you sing, "This is Spring."
Christopher Pearce Cranch
Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.
in Just-- spring when the world is mud-- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee
e e cummings
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!
Sarah Foster Davis
April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.
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.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours Fair Venus' train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year.
When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.
Bishop Reginald Heber
The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling; The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.
Alfred Edward Housman