It's 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. O 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.