During my brief vacation, I have been indulging in reading books I have bought over the years and never finished reading. It is refreshing to discover and rediscover things in one's own home.
My personal library is quite small but dearly loved. I thought I would share a bit of poetry by Wordworths. After spending what feels like months indoors, I cannot help but share in this idleness. though Wordsworth had a fine spring day than a warm day in the dead of winter.
To My Sister by William Wordsworth
It is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our our door
There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and the mountain 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 reign;
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 calender:
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 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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