Emily Dickinson Quotes

Spring time is the land awakening.

She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbor: "Winter is dead.

Spring is very energising to me.

And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs— Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Let Him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.

Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies To listen to Earth’s weary voices Louder every day Bidding her no longer linger On her charm’d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.

Spring is when life's alive in everything.

Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!

When the leaves of the strongest tree fall, spring is here.

The spring of the New Age is here, bursting forth in perfect harmony, beauty and abundance; and nothing can stop it from coming about.

New every morning is the love Our waking and uprising prove, Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life and power and thought.

Now Spring returns; but not to me returns.

We can seek God and find him! God is knowable, touchable, hearable, seeable, with the mind, the hands, the ears and the eyes of the inner man.

The hopeless hope is one of the early harbingers of spring, bespeaking an innocent belief that the world might right its wrongs and reverse its curses simply because the trees are coming into leaf.

Men in their generations are like the leaves of the trees. The wind blows and one year's leaves are scattered on the ground; but the trees burst into bud and put on fresh ones when the spring comes round.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring The Winter Garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly-and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

Never yet was a springtime, when the buds forgot to bloom.

Heaven's Virginia when the year's at its Spring.

Spring flies, and with it all the train it leads; and flowers, in fading, leave us but their seeds.

Every morning is like a new reincarnation into this world. Let us take it then for what it is and live each moment anew.

As long as the Earth can make a spring every year, I can.