Vacation Time

Vacation time! How glad it seemed

When as a boy I sat and dreamed

Above my school books, of the fun

That I should claim when toil was done;

And, Oh, how oft my youthful eye

Went wandering with the patch of sky

That drifted by the window panes

O'er pleasant fields and dusty lanes,

Where I would race and romp and shout

The very moment school was out.

My artful little fingers then

Feigned labor with the ink and pen,

But heart and mind were far away,

Engaged in some glad bit of play.

The last two weeks dragged slowly by;

Time had n't then learned how to fly.

It seemed the clock upon the wall

From hour to hour could only crawl,

And when the teacher called my name,

Unto my cheeks the crimson came,

For I could give no answer clear

To questions that I did n't hear.

“Wool gathering, were you?” oft she said

And smiled to see me blushing red.

Her voice had roused me from a dream

Where I was fishing in a stream,

And, if I now recall it right,

Just at the time I had a bite.

And now my youngsters dream of play

In just the very selfsame way;

And they complain that time is slow

And that the term will never go.

Their little minds with plans are filled

For joyous hours they soon will build,

And it is vain for me to say,

That have grown old and wise and gray,

That time is swift, and joy is brief;

They'll put no faith in such belief.

To youthful hearts that long for play

Time is a laggard on the way.

‘ Twas, Oh, so slow to me back then

Ere I had learned the ways of men!