Barefoot boy

John Greenleaf Whittier

....
Blessing on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,-
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art, -the grown up man
Only is republican
Let the million-dollar ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eyes,-
Outward sunshine, inward joy
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's painless play
Sleep that wakes in laughing day
Health that mocks the doctors' rules
Knowledge never learned of schools;
Of the wilde bee's morning chase
Of the wild-flower's time and place
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell
How the woodchuck digs his cell
And the ground mole sinks his well
How the robin feeds her young
How thee oriole's nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow
Where the freshest berries grow
Where the ground-nut trails it vine
Where the wood grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way
Mason of his walls of clay
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks
Nature answers all he asks
Hand in hand with her he walks
Face to face with her he talks
Part and parcel of her joy,-
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's time of June
Crowding years in one brief moon
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for
I was rich in flowers and trees
Humming birds and honey bees
For my sport the squirrel played;
Plied the snouted moles his spade
For my taste the blackberries cone
Purples over hedge and stone
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night
Whispering at the garden wall
Talked with me from fall to fall
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond
Mine the walnut slopes beyond
Mine, on bending orchard trees
Apples of hesperides
Still as my horizon grew
Larger grew my riches too
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy
Fashioned for a barefoot boys!

Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
Over me, like a regal tent
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent
Purple curtained, fringed with gold
Looped in many a wind swung fold
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra
And to light the noisy choir
Lit the fly his lamp of fire
I was monarch, pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard
Stubble speared the new-mown sward
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptism of the dew
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride
Lose the freedom of the sod
Like a colt's for work be shod
Made to tread the mills of toil
Up and down in ceaseless moi,

happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin
Ah, that thou couldst know thy joy
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!