My Barefoot Boys

Blessings 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;

Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,

Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

Blessings on the barefoot boys!

by John Greenleaf Whittier