So forth issewed the Seasons of the yeare:
First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of flowres
That freshly budded and new bloomes did beare,
In which a thousand birds had built their bowres
That sweetly sung to call forth paramours;
And in his hand a javelin he did beare,
And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures)
A guilt, engraven morion he did weare:
That, as some did him love, so others did him feare.
_Faërie Queen, Bk. VII_. E. SPENSER.
The stormy March has come at last,
With winds and clouds and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast
That through the snowy valley flies.
_March_. W.C. BRYANT.
March! A cloudy stream is flowing,
And a hard, steel blast is blowing;
Bitterer now than I remember
Ever to have felt or seen,
In the depths of drear December,
When the white doth hide the green.
_March, April, May_. B.W. PROCTER (_Barry Cornwall_).
A gush of bird-song, a patter of dew,
A cloud, and a rainbow's warning,
Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue--
An April day in the morning.
_April_. H.P. SPOFFORD.
O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day!
_The Tempest, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.
When proud-pied April, dressed all in his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
_Sonnet XCVIII_. SHAKESPEARE.
Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come.
_The Seasons: Spring_. J. THOMSON.
But yesterday all life in bud was hid;
But yesterday the grass was gray and sere;
To-day the whole world decks itself anew
In all the glorious beauty of the year.
_Sudden Spring in New England_. C. WELSH.
When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers.
_The Fountains_. W.C. BRYANT.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea.
_Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots_. R. BURNS.
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.
_May Day_. R.W. EMERSON.
Spring's last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet,
Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet,
And golden locks in breezy play,
Half teasing and half tender, to repeat
Her song of "May."
_May_. S.C. WOOLSEY (_Susan Coolidge_).
For May wol have no slogardie a-night.
The seson priketh every gentil herte,
And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte.
_Canterbury Tales: The Knightes Tale_. CHAUCER.
When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight.
_Love's Labor's Lost, Act v. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.