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.