The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.

Robert Frost (1874–1963)
Two Tramps in Mud Time (1936)

O! how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day!

William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
The Two Gentlemen of Verona

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965)
The Waste Land (1922)

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

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)
Locksley Hall (1842)

1 comentário:

Anónimo disse...

Na Primavera... As abelhas fazem-no, as andorinhas fazem-no, os passarinhos fazem-no...e nós, porque não o fazemos?
Porque decidimos cortar nossas asas, porque as atrofiamos para caberem na status quo... porque simplesmente temos medo do primeiro salto.. e esse e sempre um salto de fé.