There is deliberate exaggeration, often. I feel if I close my eyes I can almost hear her saying this, there is so much 'voice' here. It's a fun little piece. It reminds me of Don Quixote demanding the surrender of the wind-mill, and of Sir Stephen Toplift, and of Sir Alexander Cockburn. Spring is a happiness so beautiful, so unique, so unexpected, that I don't know what to do with my heart.
Life is a spell so exquisite that everything conspires to break it.
George Eliot is one. Your loving Emily.