TO MY SISTER

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 sens 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 your 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.

No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living calendar:
We from to-day, 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 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.


William Wordsworth
Poem written in 1798

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