è Primavera (anche se in ritardo..!)

It is the first mild day of March,
Each minute sweeter than before;
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside the 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..

I versi sono di William Wordsworth, poeta romantico inglese, ma trovati sul blog di Lisa Corva, a cui spesso mi ispiro :)