Edgar Albert Guest
The kids are out-of-doors once more;
 The heavy leggins that they wore,
 The winter caps that covered ears
 Are put away, and no more tears
 Are shed because they cannot go
 Until they’re bundled up just so.
 No more she wonders when they’re gone
 If they have put their rubbers on;
 No longer are they hourly told
 To guard themselves against a cold;
 Bareheaded now they romp and run
 Warmed only by the kindly sun.
 
 She’s put their heavy clothes away
 And turned the children out to play,
 And all the morning long they race
 Like madcaps round about the place.
 The robins on the fences sing
 A gayer song of welcoming,
 And seems as though they had a share
 In all the fun they’re having there.
 The wrens and sparrows twitter, too,
 A louder and a noisier crew,
 As though it pleased them all to see
 The youngsters out of doors and free.
 
 Outdoors they scamper to their play
 With merry din the livelong day,
 And hungrily they jostle in
 The favor of the maid to win;
 Then, armed with cookies or with cake,
 Their way into the yard they make,
 And every feathered playmate comes
 To gather up his share of crumbs.
 The finest garden that I know
 Is one where little children grow,
 Where cheeks turn brown and eyes are bright,
 And all is laughter and delight.
 
 Oh, you may brag of gardens fine,
 But let the children race in mine;
 And let the roses, white and red,
 Make gay the ground whereon they tread.
 And who for bloom perfection seeks,
 Should mark the color on their cheeks;
 No music that the robin spouts
 Is equal to their merry shouts;
 There is no foliage to compare
 With youngsters’ sun-kissed, tousled hair:
 Spring’s greatest joy beyond a doubt
 Is when it brings the children out.
Other works by Edgar Albert Guest...



Top