LINES WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY HOUSE, A BY MY LITTLE BOY TO THE PERSON TO WHOM THEY ARE ADDRESSED.
It is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before,
The red-breast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.
There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green ?eld.
My Sister! (tis a wish of mine)
Now that our m meal is done,
Make haste, your m task resign;
e forth ahe sun.
Edward will e with you, and pray,
Put on with speed your woodland dress,
And bring no book, for this one day
Well give to idleness.
No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living dar:
We from to-day, my friend, will date
The opening of the year.
Love, now an universal birth.
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth,
--It is the hour of feeling.
One moment now may give us more
Than ?fty years of reason;
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.
Some silent laws our hearts may make,
Which they shall long obey;
We for the year to ay take
Our temper from to-day.
And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above;
Well frame the measure of our souls,
They shall be tuo love.
Then e, my sister! e, I pray,
With speed put on your woodland dress,
And bring no book; for this one day
Well give to idleness.