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. 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.