Not doing this
Unfortunately, I also have this
It just gets in the way when I am doing what I would rather be doing like this
and this
Anything new and exciting out there for you all?
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the [shepherds pipe]1 all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! The sweet Spring!
Thomas Nashe
DEAR March, come in! | |
How glad I am! | |
I looked for you before. | |
Put down your hat— | |
You must have walked— | 5 |
How out of breath you are! | |
Dear March, how are you? | |
And the rest? | |
Did you leave Nature well? | |
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me, | 10 |
I have so much to tell! | |
I got your letter, and the bird’s; | |
The maples never knew | |
That you were coming,—I declare, | |
How red their faces grew! | 15 |
But, March, forgive me— | |
And all those hills | |
You left for me to hue; | |
There was no purple suitable, | |
You took it all with you. | 20 |
Who knocks? That April! | |
Lock the door! | |
I will not be pursued! | |
He stayed away a year, to call | |
When I am occupied. | 25 |
But trifles look so trivial | |
As soon as you have come, | |
That blame is just as dear as praise | |
And praise as mere as blame. |