'TIS fine to play In the fragrant hay, And romp on the golden load; To ride old Jack To the barn and back, Or tramp by a shady road. To pause and drink, At a mossy brink; Ah, that is the best of joy, And so I say On a summer's day, What's so fine as being a boy? Ha, Ha! With line and hook By a babbling brook, The fisherman's sport we ply; And list the song Of the feathered throng That flit in the branches nigh. At last we strip For a quiet dip; Ah, that is the best of joy. For this I say On a summer's day, What's so fine as being a boy? Ha, Ha! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: CONVOY ESCORT by RUDYARD KIPLING WINTER HEAVENS by GEORGE MEREDITH IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 47 by ALFRED TENNYSON A ROCKING HYMN by GEORGE WITHER EPITHALAMIUM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD WHAT SAID THE LITTLE ADMIRAL? by WILLIAM ROSE BENET HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 37 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |