The
poem was placed by Wordsworth among those of "Sentiment and
Reflection.
poem was placed by Wordsworth among those of "Sentiment and
Reflection.
William Wordsworth
My little boy-messenger on this
occasion was the son of Basil Montagu. The larch mentioned in the
first stanza was standing when I revisited the place in May 1841, more
than forty years after. I was disappointed that it had not improved in
appearance as to size, nor had it acquired anything of the majesty of
age, which, even though less perhaps than any other tree, the larch
sometimes does. A few score yards from this tree, grew, when we
inhabited Alfoxden, one of the most remarkable beech-trees ever seen.
The ground sloped both towards and from it. It was of immense size,
and threw out arms that struck into the soil, like those of the
banyan-tree, and rose again from it. Two of the branches thus inserted
themselves twice, which gave to each the appearance of a serpent
moving along by gathering itself up in folds. One of the large boughs
of this tree had been torn off by the wind before we left Alfoxden,
but five remained. In 1841 we could barely find the spot where the
tree had stood. So remarkable a production of nature could not have
been wilfully destroyed. --I. F. ]
In the editions 1798 to 1815 the title of this poem was, 'Lines written
at a small distance from my House, and sent by my little Boy to the
person to whom they are addressed'. From 1820 to 1843 the title was, 'To
my Sister; written at a small distance from my House, and sent by my
little Boy'. In 1845 and afterwards, it was simply 'To my Sister'.
The
poem was placed by Wordsworth among those of "Sentiment and
Reflection. "--Ed.
* * * * *
THE POEM
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, 5
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, 10
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 15
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. 20
Love, now a [1] 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 25
Than years of toiling reason: [2]
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.
Some silent laws our hearts will make, [3]
Which they shall long obey: 30
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: 35
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. 40
* * * * *
The larch is now gone; but the place where it stood can easily be
identified. --Ed.
occasion was the son of Basil Montagu. The larch mentioned in the
first stanza was standing when I revisited the place in May 1841, more
than forty years after. I was disappointed that it had not improved in
appearance as to size, nor had it acquired anything of the majesty of
age, which, even though less perhaps than any other tree, the larch
sometimes does. A few score yards from this tree, grew, when we
inhabited Alfoxden, one of the most remarkable beech-trees ever seen.
The ground sloped both towards and from it. It was of immense size,
and threw out arms that struck into the soil, like those of the
banyan-tree, and rose again from it. Two of the branches thus inserted
themselves twice, which gave to each the appearance of a serpent
moving along by gathering itself up in folds. One of the large boughs
of this tree had been torn off by the wind before we left Alfoxden,
but five remained. In 1841 we could barely find the spot where the
tree had stood. So remarkable a production of nature could not have
been wilfully destroyed. --I. F. ]
In the editions 1798 to 1815 the title of this poem was, 'Lines written
at a small distance from my House, and sent by my little Boy to the
person to whom they are addressed'. From 1820 to 1843 the title was, 'To
my Sister; written at a small distance from my House, and sent by my
little Boy'. In 1845 and afterwards, it was simply 'To my Sister'.
The
poem was placed by Wordsworth among those of "Sentiment and
Reflection. "--Ed.
* * * * *
THE POEM
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, 5
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, 10
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 15
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. 20
Love, now a [1] 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 25
Than years of toiling reason: [2]
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.
Some silent laws our hearts will make, [3]
Which they shall long obey: 30
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: 35
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. 40
* * * * *
The larch is now gone; but the place where it stood can easily be
identified. --Ed.
