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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 séa, "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;

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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

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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, in the green field.

And grass

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.

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