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.

Every year, back comes Spring, with nasty little birds yapping their fool heads off and the ground all mucked up read more

Every year, back comes Spring, with nasty little birds yapping their fool heads off and the ground all mucked up with plants.

Sweet Spring, full of sweet dayes and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My musick shows read more

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.
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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.

The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent read more

The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its lovliness.

As quickly as the ice vanishes when the Father unlooses the frost
fetters and unwounds the icy ropes of read more

As quickly as the ice vanishes when the Father unlooses the frost
fetters and unwounds the icy ropes of the torrent.

Daughter of heaven and earth, coy Spring,
With sudden passion languishing,
Teaching barren moors to smile,
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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.

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.

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.