OUT-OF-DOORS

The kids are out-of-doors once more;

The heavy leggins that they wore,

The winter caps that covered ears

Are put away, and no more tears

Are shed because they cannot go

Until they're bundled up just so.

No more she wonders when they're gone

If they have put their rubbers on;

No longer are they hourly told

To guard themselves against a cold;

Bareheaded now they romp and run

Warmed only by the kindly sun.

She's put their heavy clothes away

And turned the children out to play,

And all the morning long they race

Like madcaps round about the place.

The robins on the fences sing

A gayer song of welcoming,

And seems as though they had a share

In all the fun they're having there.

The wrens and sparrows twitter, too,

A louder and a noisier crew,

As though it pleased them all to see

The youngsters out of doors and free.

Outdoors they scamper to their play

With merry din the livelong day,

And hungrily they jostle in

The favor of the maid to win;

Then, armed with cookies or with cake,

Their way into the yard they make,

And every feathered playmate comes

To gather up his share of crumbs.

The finest garden that I know

Is one where little children grow,

Where cheeks turn brown and eyes are bright,

And all is laughter and delight.

Oh, you may brag of gardens fine,

But let the children race in mine;

And let the roses, white and red,

Make gay the ground whereon they tread.

And who for bloom perfection seeks,

Should mark the color on their cheeks;

No music that the robin spouts

Is equal to their merry shouts;

There is no foliage to compare

With youngsters’ sun-kissed, tousled hair:

Spring's greatest joy beyond a doubt

Is when it brings the children out.