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