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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=348683" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Coming Of Spring</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=348683" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Spring is come back, and the little voices are calling,<br>The birds are calling, the little green buds on the trees,<br>A song in the street, and an old and sleepy tune; <br>All the sounds of the spring are falling, falling,<br>Gentle as rain, on my heart, and I hear all these<br>As a sick man hears men talk from the heart of a swoon.<br> <br>The clamours of spring are the same old delicate noises,<br>The earth renews its magical youth at a breath,<br>And the whole world whispers a well-known, secret thing; <br>And I hear, but the meaning has faded out of the voices; <br>Something has died in my heart: is it death or sleep? <br>I know not, but I have forgotten the meaning of spring.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Arthur+Symons">Arthur Symons</a></strong></div>

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