You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.

In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.

In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.

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.

The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created spring.

The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created spring.

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.

Starred forget-me-nots smile sweetly,
Ring, bluebells, ring!
Winning eye and heart completely,
Sing, robin, read more

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!

Now spring returns; but not to me returns
The vernal joy my better years have known;
Dim read more

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.

For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the read more

For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds
is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the
tender grape, give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one,
and come away.

I come, I come! ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountain with light and song:
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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.