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Lines Written at a Small Distance from My House

and Sent by My Little Boy to the Person to Whom

They Were Addressed

It is the first mild day of March:

Each minute sweeter than before

The redbreast 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 field.

My sister! ('tis a wish of mine)

Now that our morning meal is done,

Make haste, your morning task resign;

Come forth and feel the sun.

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.