Yes, spring is here, or dashed close by, what? The sky's a light blue, with cotton-wool clouds, and there's a bit of a breeze blowing from the west. Uplifting! If I had yellow shoes and a green homburg I'd go do pastoral dances in Hyde Park with dear old Bertie Wooster:
"Sir?" said Jeeves. He had been clearing away the breakfast things, but at the sound of the young master's voice cheesed it courteously.
"You were absolutely right about the weather. It is a juicy morning."
"Spring and all that."
"In the spring, Jeeves, a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove."
"So I have been informed, sir."
"Right ho! Then bring me my whangee, my yellowest shoes, and the old green Homburg. I'm going into the Park to do pastoral dances."
I don't know if you know that sort of feeling you get on these days round about the end of April and the beginning of May, when the sky's a light blue, with cotton-wool clouds, and there's a bit of a breeze blowing from the west? Kind of uplifted feeling. Romantic, if you know what I mean. I'm not much of a ladies' man, but on this particular morning it seemed to me that what I really wanted was some charming girl to buzz up and ask me to save her from assassins or something. So that it was a bit of an anti-climax when I merely ran into young Bingo Little, looking perfectly foul in a crimson satin tie decorated with horseshoes.
P.G. Wodehouse. (1921). Jeeves in the Springtime.
A whangee, incidentally, "is an English term, current in the late 18th century, deriving from huang, the Chinese word for the type of bamboo used for making walking sticks" according to the annotations at Madame Eulalie, that invaluable website for the devoted Wodehousian.
And the bit about the 'livelier iris'? Alfred Lord Tennyson's Locksley Hall, first published in 1842:
When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see;
Saw the Vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.—
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.