Quotes for Events - April

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Quotes for April.

April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.

Some there are who grudge thee the honour of the month, and would snatch it from thee, Venus. For they say that April was named from the open (apertum) season, because spring then opens (aperit) all things, and the sharp frost-bound cold departs, and earth unlocks her teeming soil, though kindly Venus claims the month and lays her hand on it.
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour Of which vertu engendered is the flour: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.
It is now April, and the nightingale begins to tune her throat against May. The sunny showers perfume the air and the bees begin to go abroad for honey. The dew, as in pearls, hangs upon the tops of the grass, while the turtles sit billing upon the little green boughs. . . . It were a world to set down the worth of this month, but in sum, I thus conclude: I hold it the heaven's blessing and the earth's comfort.
O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away.
'Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music!
The April winds are magical, And thrill our tuneful frames; The garden-walks are passional To bachelors and dames.
Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.
Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf.
Ah, but I know, for never April's shine, Nor passion gust of rain, nor all her flowers Scattered in haste, were seen so sudden fine As she in various mood, on whom the powers Of happiest stars in fair conjunction smiled To bless the birth of April's darling child.
Bare twigs in April enhance our pleasure; We know the good time is yet to come. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bare twigs in Autumn are signs for sadness; We feel the good time is well-nigh past.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
O April, full of blood, full of breath, have pity upon us! Pale, where the winter like a stone has been lifted away, we emerge like yellow grass. Be for a moment quiet, buffet us not, have pity upon us, Till the green come back into the vein, till the giddiness pass.
'Tis April again in my garden, again the grey stone-wall Is prankt with yellow alyssum and lilac aubrey-cresses; Half-hidden the mavis caroleth in the tassely birchen tresses And awhile on the sunny air a cuckoo tuneth his call.

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