Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

April is a fun month.

Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.

Sweet May lies fresh before us, To life the young flowers leap, And through the Heaven's blue o'er us The rosy cloudlets sweep.

The month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit.

Welcome, wild harbinger of spring! To this small nook of earth; Feeling and fancy fondly cling, Round thoughts which owe their birth, To thee, and to the humble spot, Where chance has fixed thy lowly lot.

To me, flowers are happiness.

I love spring flowers: daffodils and hyacinths are the ultimate flower for me. They are the essence of spring.

Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.

Oh, to be in England now that April's there.

I love better to count time from spring to spring; it seems to me far more cheerful to reckon the year by blossoms than by blight.

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it.

When the flowers start blooming, I like to ride my bike.

See the land, her Easter keeping, Rises as her Maker rose. Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping, Burst at last from winter snows. Earth with heaven above rejoices.

It is not merely the multiplicity of tints, the gladness of tone, or the balminess of the air which delight in the spring; it is the still consecrated spirit of hope, the prophecy of happy days yet to come; the endless variety of nature, with presentiments of eternal flowers which never shall fade, and sympathy with the blessedness of the ever-developing world.

The snow has at last melted, the fields regain their herbage, and the trees their leaves.

I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees. For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

Carols of gladness ring from every tree.

There's so much spring in the air- there's so much lazy sweetness in your heart.

In hawthorn-time the heart grows light.