Andrew S. Thomas

Back when I was in high school, studying the romantic poets in English class, I had a particular fondness for William Wordsworth’s poem, “To My Sister.”

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,
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,
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.

Today is almost exactly that kind of day (although it’s April), and it’s really making me resent the fact that I have to work indoors under pale flouresecent lighting surrounded by grey cubicle walls. Wordsworth writes about “giving this day to idleness,” and I’d love that luxury.

Anyone else feeling cooped-up and ready to burst?

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