[Footnote B:  See Appendix VII.—­Ed.]

* * * * *

TO MY SISTER

Composed 1798.—­Published 1798.

[Composed in front of Alfoxden House.  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.