You do not know it, little man, <br />In your summer coat of tan <br />And your legs bereft of hose <br />And your peeling, sunburned nose, <br />With a stone bruise on your toe, <br />Almost limping as you go <br />Running on your way to play <br />Through another summer day, <br />Friend of birds and streams and trees, <br />That your happiest days are these. <br /> <br />Little do you think to-day, <br />As you hurry to your play, <br />That a lot of us, grown old <br />In the chase for fame and gold, <br />Watch you as you pass along <br />Gayly whistling bits of song, <br />And in envy sit and dream <br />Of a long-neglected stream, <br />Where long buried are the joys <br />We possessed when we were boys. <br /> <br />Little chap, you cannot guess <br />All your sum of happiness; <br />Little value do you place <br />On your sunburned freckled face; <br />And if some shrewd fairy came <br />Offering sums of gold and fame <br />For your summer days of play, <br />You would barter them away <br />And believe that you had made <br />There and then a clever trade. <br /> <br />Time was we were boys like you, <br />Bare of foot and sunburned, too, <br />And, like you, we never guessed <br />All the riches we possessed; <br />We'd have traded them back then <br />For the hollow joys of men; <br />We'd have given them all to be <br />Rich and wise and forty-three. <br />For life never teaches boys <br />Just how precious are their joys. <br /> <br />Youth has fled and we are old. <br />Some of us have fame and gold; <br />Some of us are sorely scarred, <br />For the way of age is hard; <br />And we envy, little man, <br />You your splendid coat of tan, <br />Envy you your treasures rare, <br />Hours of joy beyond compare; <br />For we know, by teaching stern, <br />All that some day you must learn.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-happiest-days/
