in Just--
spring when the world is mud--
luscious the little
lame balloonman
read more

in Just--
spring when the world is mud--
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee

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.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
read more

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.

Life stands before me like an eternal spring with new and brilliant clothes.

Life stands before me like an eternal spring with new and brilliant clothes.

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.

For happiness one needs security, but joy can spring like a flower even from the cliffs of despair.

For happiness one needs security, but joy can spring like a flower even from the cliffs of despair.

Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.

Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.

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.

Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn.

Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn.