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the blue sky and the brook, or my father the Sun, bu* 
his warm beams penetrated, many days ago, to my 
dark apartment, and waked me from the long winter 
night. When the snow melted, and the warm rain 
reached my roots, I breakfasted upon the sweet 
waters, and prepared to dress myself for this happy 
day. I am glad to see the new blades of grass 
begin to shoot up, for these stiff brown ones of last 
year are not so fragrant or so polite as the tender 
green ones which yield readily to the pressure of 
my leaves. I only wish to have room to look up at 
the Sun and the blue sky. My pale little sister, who 
is under that leaf by your hand, cannot even do that, 
and yet she says she is happy, it feels so good to be 
alive. I hardly think I should be happy if I were 
there, and now you have taken away the leaf, I 
suspect she will never be willing to live under it 
again 
