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"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,

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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."

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


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 today, my Friend, will date

The opening of the year.

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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.

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