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 ! (it is 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 will 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 a 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 years of toiling reason:
our minds shall drink at every pore
the spirit of the season .
some silent laws our hearts will make,
which they shall long obey:
We for the year to come may take
our temper from today.
And from the blessed power that rolls
about, below, above,
we will frame the measure of our souls :
They shall be turned 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 will give to idleness.
William Wordsworth