The Day of Days

A year is filled with glad events:

The best is Christmas day,

But every holiday presents

Its special round of play,

And looking back on boyhood now

And all the charms it knew,

One day, above the rest, somehow,

Seems brightest in review.

That day was finest, I believe;

Though many grown-ups scoff,

When mother said that we could leave

Our shoes and stockings off.

Through all the pleasant days of spring

We begged to know once more

The joy of barefoot wandering

And quit the shoes we wore;

But always mother shook her head

And answered with a smile:

“It is too soon, too soon,” she said.

“Wait just a little while.”

Then came that glorious day at last

When mother let us know

That fear of taking cold was past

And we could barefoot go.

Though Christmas day meant much to me,

And eagerly I'd try

The first boy on the street to be

The Fourth day of July,

I think: the summit of my joy

Was reached that happy day

Each year, when, as a barefoot boy,

I hastened out to play.

Could I return to childhood fair,

That day I think I'd choose

When mother said I need n't wear

My stockings and my shoes.