TS Eliot opened The Wasteland with these lines:

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

Edna St. Vincent Millay expressed the same thought:

"Spring"

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

In other words, spring seems to be kind, but life is nourished by death, and life is fleeting.

Percy Shelley wrote,

"O, Wind. If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"

But the reverse is true: if spring comes, can winter be far behind?

Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow, you may die--or diet as the case might be.