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.

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.

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.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough.

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

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

I have always tried to hide my efforts and wished my works to have a light joyousness of springtime which read more

I have always tried to hide my efforts and wished my works to have a light joyousness of springtime which never lets anyone suspect the labors it has cost me.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
read more

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.

If there comes a little thaw,
Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a read more

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."

For surely in the blind deep-buried roots
Of all men's souls to-day
A secret quiver shoots.

For surely in the blind deep-buried roots
Of all men's souls to-day
A secret quiver shoots.