Spring.

In that soft season, when descending show'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flow'rs;
When opening buds salute the welcome day,

And earth relenting feels the genial ray.

Pope: Temple of Fame.

Mighty nature bounds as from her birth.
The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth;
Flowers in the valley, splendor in the beam,
Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream.

Byron: Lara.

In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast;

In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;

In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove;

In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Tennyson: Locksley Hall.

Is not the May-time now on earth,
When close against the city wall

The folks are singing in their mirth,

While on their heads the May flowers fall?

William Morris: Life and Death of Jason..

The breath of Spring-time at this twilight hour
Comes through the gathering glooms,

And bears the stolen sweets of many a flower
Into my silent rooms.

Byron: May Evening.

Spring is strong and virtuous,
Broad-sowing, cheerful, plenteous,
Quickening underneath the mold
Grains beyond the price of gold.
So deep and large her bounties are,
That one broad, long midsummer day
Shall to the planet overpay

The ravage of a year of war.

Emerson: May-Day.

Storm, Tempest; see Quiet and Peace.

The southern wind

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves,
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

Shakespeare: 1 Henry IV.

We often see, against some storm,
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death.
Shakespeare: Hamlet.

Far along

From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud.
Byron: Childe Harold.

There is war in the skies!

Lo! the black-winged legions of tempest arise
O'er those sharp splinter'd rocks that are gleaming
below

In the soft light, so fair and so fatal, as though

Some seraph burn'd through them, the thunderbolt

searching

Which the black cloud unbosom'd just now.

Owen Meredith: Lucile.

The clouds are scudding across the moon,
A misty light is on the sea;

The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune,
And the foam is flying free.

Bayard Taylor: Storm Song.

Who shall face

The blast that wakes the fury of the sea?
The vast hulks

Are whirled like chaff upon the waves; the sails
Fly, rent like webs of gossamer; the masts

Are snapped asunder.

Bryant: Hymn of the Sea.

What roar is that?-'tis the rain that breaks
In torrents away from the airy lakes,

Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,

And shedding a nameless horror round.

Ah! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies,
With the very clouds!-ye are lost to my eyes.

I seek ye vainly, and see in your place

The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space.
Bryant: The Hurricane.

Success; see Action, Applause, Fame, and Opportunity. "Tis not in mortals to command success;

But we'll do more, Sempronius—we'll deserve it.

Addison: Cato.

Life lives only in success.

Bayard Taylor: Amran's Wooing.

What though success will not attend on all?
Who bravely dares must sometimes risk a fall.

One thing is forever good;

That one thing is Success.

Smollett: Advice.

Emerson: Fate.

Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt;
Nothing's so hard, but search will find it out.

Herrick.

The man who consecrates his hours

By vig'rous effort, and an honest aim,

At once he draws the sting of life and death;
He walks with nature; and her paths are peace.
Young: Night Thoughts.

Glorious it is to wear the crown

Of a deserved and pure success;—
He who knows how to fail has won
A crown whose luster is not less.

Adelaide A. Procter.

Suicide; see Courage and Death.

Fool, I mean not

That poor-souled piece of heroism, self-slaughter;
Oh, no! the miserablest day we live

There's many a better thing to do than die!

Darley: Ethelstan.

Oh! that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and dissolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter!

-He

Shakespeare: Hamlet.

That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it;
And at the best shows but a bastard valor.

Massinger: Maid of Honor.

Our time is fix'd; and all our days are number'd!
How long, how short, we know not: this we know,
Duty requires we calmly wait the summons,
Nor dare to stir till heaven shall give permission.
Blair: Grave.

To run away

From this world's ills, that, at the very worst,
Will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourselves
By boldly venturing on a world unknown,
And plunging headlong in the dark!-'tis mad!
No frenzy half so desperate as this.

Summer.

Blair: Grave.

From bright'ning fields of ether fair disclos'd
Child of the sun, refulgent Summer comes,

In pride of youth, and felt through nature's depth;
He comes attended by the sultry hours,

And ever-fanning breezes, on his way:

While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her blushful face; and earth and skies,

All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.

Thomson: Seasons, Summer.