"My little Boy, which like you more," I said, and took him by the arm

"Our home by Kilve's delightful shore, "Or here at Liswyn farm ?"

"And tell me, had you rather be,"

I said, and held him by the arm, "At Kilve's smooth shore by the green sea, "Or here at Liswyn farm?".

In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, "At Kilve I'd rather be
"Than here at Liswyn farm."

"Now, little Edward, say why so;
"My little Edward, tell me why;"-
" I cannot tell, I do not know."
"Why this is strange," said I.

"For, here are woods, and green-hills warm : "There surely must some reason be "Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm "For Kilve by the green sea."

At this, my Boy hung down his head,
He blush'd with shame, nor made reply;
And five times to the Child I said,
"Why, Edward, tell me why ?"

His head he raised-there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain-
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.

Then did the Boy his tongue unlock;
And thus to me he made reply;

"At Kilve there was no weather-cock,

"And that's the reason why."

Oh dearest, dearest Boy ! my heart For better lore would seldom yearn, Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn.

LINES

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
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.

No joyless forms shall regulate

Our living Calendar :

We from to-day, 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 earth:

-It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more

Than fifty years of reason :

Our minds shall drink at every pore

The spirit of the season.