A year is filled with glad events: <br /> The best is Christmas day, <br />But every holiday presents <br /> Its special round of play, <br />And looking back on boyhood now <br /> And all the charms it knew, <br />One day, above the rest, somehow, <br /> Seems brightest in review. <br />That day was finest, I believe; <br /> Though many grown-ups scoff, <br />When mother said that we could leave <br /> Our shoes and stockings off. <br /> <br />Through all the pleasant days of spring <br /> We begged to know once more <br />The joy of barefoot wandering <br /> And quit the shoes we wore; <br />But always mother shook her head <br /> And answered with a smile: <br />'It is too soon, too soon,' she said. <br /> 'Wait just a little while.' <br />Then came that glorious day at last <br /> When mother let us know <br />That fear of taking cold was past <br /> And we could barefoot go. <br /> <br />Though Christmas day meant much to me, <br /> And eagerly I'd try <br />The first boy on the street to be <br /> The Fourth day of July, <br />I think: the summit of my joy <br /> Was reached that happy day <br />Each year, when, as a barefoot boy, <br /> I hastened out to play. <br />Could I return to childhood fair, <br /> That day I think I'd choose <br />When mother said I needn't wear <br /> My stockings and my shoes.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-day-of-days-3/
