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.
Ah, Spring! Unfortunately, “thoughts of love,” aflutter though they may set my heart, pose an unnecessary impedance to my work-momentum, so the hearts aflutter are probably best kept at arm’s length till after finals. Yup. Sure. Just keep telling yourself that.