It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!
Mark TwainRead
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It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!
It was a lover and his lass, _x000D_ _x000D_ With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,_x000D_ _x000D_ That o'er the green corn-field did pass,_x000D_ _x000D_ In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,_x000D_ _x000D_ When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;_x000D_ _x000D_ Sweet lovers love the spring.
If we had not winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
What a strange thing! to be alive beneath cherry blossoms.
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.
Through winter-time we call on spring,_x000D_ _x000D_ And through the spring on summer call,_x000D_ _x000D_ And when the abounding hedges ring_x000D_ _x000D_ Declare that winter's best of all:_x000D_ _x000D_ And after that there's nothing good_x000D_ _x000D_ Because the spring time has not come-_x000D_ _x000D_ Not know that what disturbs our blood_x000D_ _x000D_ Is but its longing for the tomb.
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 turtledove is heard in our land.
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered isgrief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
The only thing that could spoil a day was people. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
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