Spring

LOVELIEST of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

A.E.Housman

the sweetness of the fields unspeakable, and we of the railroad rush over its wooded dry indian draws where one morning all dew pink just outside Chittendon I saw a bird sitting stanchion straight in the wild tangle, and it was the bird of Chittendon and the meaning of morning

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Queen Margaret:

Now ‘tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
Suffer them now, and they’ll outgrow the garden,
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.

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- William Shakespeare (1564–1616) – Henry VI, Part 2, act 3, sc. 1, l. 31-3

Spring – it is, indeed! Flowers everywhere! The sun is shining, the air is light! We all are happy. But what about daylights-saving-time? Nobody likes that. Why do politicians do things like that.

Wile E. Coyote from the Roadrunner cartoons sometimes ties springs to his feet so he can jump higher.

I met Mrs.Park in the corridor on a fine, late march
morning. She said: »Spring in the air!«
»Why should I?« was my reply.
Six months later, we encountered each other again.
»Winter draws on!« was her cry. »None of your business!«
was mine.

One time I was sitting with my girlfriend on a couch in her house. We were doing something innocent, watching TV or something like that. At some point I leaned over to kiss her, or she did this to me. At exactly this moment, her mother walked into the room. With a small amount of embarassment, she declared »Well. Must be Spring.«