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Written at a small distance from my House, and sent 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
There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
My Sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Now that our morning meal is done,
Edward will come with you; and pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress And bring no book: for this one day We'll give to idleness.
No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living Calendar :
We from today, 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 eart :
-It is the hour of feeling.
One moment now may give us more
Than fifty years of reason:
Our minds shall drink at every por
The spirit of the season.
Some silent laws our hearts may make,
Which they shall long obey:
We for the
year to come may take
Our temper from to-day.
And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,
We'll frame the measure of our souls:
They shall be tuned to love.
Then come, my Sister! come, I pray,
With speed put on your woodland dress -And bring no book: for this one day We'll give to idleness.