A Gustatory Achievement

Last Thanksgivin'-dinner we
Et at Granny's house, an' she

Had--ist like she alluz does--
Most an' best pies ever wuz.

Canned _black_ burry-pie an' _goose_
Burry, squshin'-full o' juice;
An' _roz_burry--yes, an' plum--
Yes, an' _churry_-pie--_um-yum_!

Peach an' punkin, too, you bet.
Lawzy! I kin taste 'em yet!
Yes, an' _custard_-pie, an' _mince!_

An'--I--_ain't_--et--no--pie--sin ce!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Laughter Holding Both His Sides

Ay, thou varlet! Laugh away!
All the world's a holiday!
Laugh away, and roar and shout
Till thy hoarse tongue lolleth out!
Bloat thy cheeks, and bulge thine eyes
Unto bursting; pelt thy thighs
With thy swollen palms, and roar
As thou never hast before!
Lustier! Wilt thou! Peal on peal!
Stiflest? Squat and grind thy heel--
Wrestle with thy loins, and then
Wheeze thee whiles, and whoop again!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Old Times Were the Best

Friends, my heart is half aweary
Of its happiness to-night:
Though your songs are gay and cheery,
And your spirits feather-light,
There's a ghostly music haunting
Still the heart of every guest
And a voiceless chorus chanting
That the Old Times were the best.

CHORUS

All about is bright and pleasant
With the sound of song and jest,
Yet a feeling's ever present
That the Old Times were the best.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Parting Guest

What delightful hosts are they --
   Life and Love!
Lingeringly I turn away,
   This late hour, yet glad enough
They have not withheld from me
   Their high hospitality.
So, with face lit with delight
   And all gratitude, I stay
   Yet to press their hands and say,
"Thanks. -- So fine a time! Good night."

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Old Winters On The Farm

I have jest about decided
It 'ud keep a _town-boy_ hoppin'
Fer to work all winter, choppin'
Fer a' old fire-place, like _I_ did!
Lawz! them old times wuz contrairy!--
Blame backbone o' winter, 'peared-like,
_Wouldn't_ break!--and I wuz skeerd-like
Clean on into _Febuary_!
Nothin' ever made we madder
Than fer Pap to stomp in, layin'
On a' extra fore-stick, sayin'
'Groun'hog's out and seed his shadder!'

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Even song

Lay away the story,--
Though the theme is sweet,
There's a lack of something yet,
Leaves it incomplete:--
There's a nameless yearning--
Strangely undefined--
For a story sweeter still
Than the written kind.

Therefore read no longer--
I've no heart to hear
But just something you make up,
O my mother dear.--
With your arms around me,
Hold me, folded-eyed,--
Only let your voice go on--
I'll be satisfied.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Blooms Of May

But yesterday!...
O blooms of May,
And summer roses--Where-away?
O stars above,
And lips of love
And all the honeyed sweets thereof!

O lad and lass
And orchard-pass,
And briered lane, and daisied grass!
O gleam and gloom,
And woodland bloom,
And breezy breaths of all perfume!--

No more for me
Or mine shall be
Thy raptures--save in memory,--
No more--no more--
Till through the Door
Of Glory gleam the days of yore.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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His Vigil

Close the book and dim the light,
I shall read no more to-night.
No--I am not sleepy, dear--
Do not go: sit by me here
In the darkness and the deep
Silence of the watch I keep.
Something in your presence so
Soothes me--as in long ago
I first felt your hand--as now--
In the darkness touch my brow;
I've no other wish than you
Thus should fold mine eyelids to,
Saying nought of sigh or tear--
Just as God were sitting here.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Leave-Taking

She will not smile;
She will not stir;
I marvel while
I look on her.
The lips are chilly
And will not speak;
The ghost of a lily
In either cheek.

Her hair--ah me!
Her hair--her hair!
How helplessly
My hands go there!
But my caresses
Meet not hers,
O golden tresses
That thread my tears!

I kiss the eyes
On either lid,

[...] Read more

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Lines For An Album

I would not trace the hackneyed phrase
Of shallow words and empty praise,
And prate of 'peace' till one might think
My foolish pen was drunk with ink.
Nor will I here the wish express
Of 'lasting love and happiness,'
And 'cloudless skies'--for after all
'Into each life some rain must fall.'
--No. Keep the empty page below,
In my remembrance, white as snow--
Nor sigh to know the secret prayer
My spirit hand has written there.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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