The Child is Father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.





5. _WRITTEN IN MARCH_,
While resting on the Bridge at the Foot of Brother's Water.


The cook is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one! 10
Like an army defeated
The Snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The Plough-boy is whooping--anon--anon:
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,