Yesterday we observed the Spring Equinox. 
I'm pretty excited about that; I think it's worth another word or two, don't you? And there's no better source than William Wordsworth when we wish to wax poetic about spring. Among other works, he is, of course, associated with that wonderful little poem on daffodils, cheerful heralds of this splendid season.
In "Out-of-Doors" Wordsworth beamed:
It is the first mild day of March,
Each minute sweeter than before;
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside the door.
There is a blessing in the air
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green field.
Love, now a universal birth,
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth;
It is the hour of feeling.
One moment now may give us more
Than years of toiling reason:
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.
More: Halls' Honeysuckle
Photo ©2011 David Beaulieu (licensed to About, Inc.)
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