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| | Hail in the Spring, a start of new beginnings.
Creativity awe-inspiring gives a reason to be living.
Plant life showing life anew, a wonder to be found.
New born lambs playing in the fields, birds nesting all around
People enjoying the sun and the warmth, feeling good to be alive.
Spring gives a purpose to our lives, a touch of Paradise. | | | | | | I smile, of course,
And go on drinking tea,
Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful, after all. | | | |
| | Spring is the Period
Express from God.
Among the other seasons
Himself abide,
But during March and April
None stir abroad
Without a cordial interview
With God. | | | | | | Narcotic greens
narcotic greens
like reeling firmaments disclose
in their appearing randomness
the sweetest means that you or she
or any wandering Thales might
choose to be
wonder-struck with
at the moment
when we die | | | |
| | Tis spring; come out to ramble
The hilly brakes around,
For under thorn and bramble
About the hollow ground
The primroses are found.
And theres the windflower chilly
With all the winds at play,
And theres the Lenten lily
That has not long to stay
And dies on Easter day. | | | | | | No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn.
April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it. | | | |
| | Meadowlarks
give lusty cheers
when spring appears
when spring appears.
Buds and seeds
prick up their ears
and blades of grass
show eager spears.
And only icicles
weep tears
when spring appears
when spring appears. | | | | | | Spring has again returned.
The Earth is like a child that knows many poems.
Many, O so many. For the hardship
of such long learning she receives the prize.
Strict was her teacher.
The white in the old mans beard pleases us.
Now, what to call green, to call blue,
we dare to ask: She knows, She knows! | | | |
| | My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp
air of January, began to heal and subside under the gentler
breathings of April; the nights and mornings no longer by their
Canadian temperature froze the very blood in our veins; we
could now endure the play-hour passed in the garden. | | | | | | Dirty days hath September
April June and November
From January up to May
The rain it raineth every day
All the rest have thirty-one
Without a blessed gleam of sun
And if any of them had two-and-thirty
Theyd be just as wet and twice as dirty. | | | |
| | Cherry Blossoms, cherry blossoms.
On mountains, in villages.
As far as you can see.
They look like fog or clouds. They are fragrant in the morning sun.
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms.
In full bloom. | | | | | | Sakura, Sakura.
Noyamamo satomo
Miwatasu kagiri.
Kasumi-ka kumo-ka.... asahi-ni niou
Sakura, Sakura,
Hanazakari. | | | |
| | Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of springs unclouded weather,
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat!
And birds and flowers once more to greet,
My last years friends together. | | | | | | Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower--but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, all in all,
I should know what God and man is | | | |
| | | All that is sweet, delightful, and amiable in this world, in the serenity of the air, the fineness of seasons, the joy of light, the melody of sounds, the beauty of colors, the fragrance of smells, the splendor our precious stones, is nothing else but Heaven breaking through the veil of this world, manifesting itself in such a degree and darting forth in such variety so much of its own nature. | | | | | | An altered look about the hills;
A Tyrian light the village fills;
A wider sunrise in the dawn;
A deeper twilight on the lawn;
A print of a vermilion foot;
A purple finger on the slope;
A flippant fly upon the pane;
A spider at his trade again;
An added strut in chanticleer;
A flower expected everywhere ... | | | |
| | Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees. | | | | | | And fairy month of waking mirth
From whom our joys ensue
Thou early gladder of the earth
Thrice welcome here anew
With thee the bud unfolds to leaves
The grass greens on the lea
And flowers their tender boon receives
To bloom and smile with thee. | | | |
| | Ahh, the wide almond groves in full white flower
Stunning in the morning sun.
Old naked Winter in his garb of grays and browns has run.
Forsythia blooms come and go in the blink of a yellow Eye,
Then, suddenly, mysteriously, Green erupts; and we sigh. | | | | | | In snowbound,
voiceless,
mountain depths,
to herald spring,
pine trees sound in tune. | | | |
Independence Day 
