A fine and subtle spirit dwells
In every little flower,
Each one its own sweet feeling breathes
With more or less of power.
There is a silent eloquence
In every wild bluebell
That fills my softened heart with bliss
That words could never tell.
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily “Hit them hard!”
I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
And let the other go on a way.
I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
He wanted to take my job for pay.
Agreeing that your first month shall be March,
A time of year I know by heart and like
To talk about – I, too, was born in March.
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a lo’esome wee thing,
This dear wee wife o’ mine.
Learn English 2020