The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
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DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE |
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 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
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DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE
It's lonesome—sorto' lonesome,—it's a Sund'y-day, to me,
It 'pears-like—more'n any day I nearly ever see!—
Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,
On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lily thare.
It 'pears-like—more'n any day I nearly ever see!—
Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,
On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lily thare.
They say, though, Decoration Days is giner'ly observed
'Most ev'rywheres—espeshally by soldier-boys that's served.—
But me and Mother's never went—we seldom git away,—
In p'int o' fact, we're allus home on Decoration Day.
'Most ev'rywheres—espeshally by soldier-boys that's served.—
But me and Mother's never went—we seldom git away,—
In p'int o' fact, we're allus home on Decoration Day.
They say the old boys marches through the streets in colum's grand,
A-follerin' the old war-tunes they're playin' on the band—
And citizuns all jinin' in—and little children, too—
All marchin', under shelter of the old Red White and Blue.—
A-follerin' the old war-tunes they're playin' on the band—
And citizuns all jinin' in—and little children, too—
All marchin', under shelter of the old Red White and Blue.—
With roses! roses! roses!—ev'rybody in the town!—
And crowds o' little girls in white, jest fairly loaded down!—
Oh! don't The Boys know it, from theyr camp acrost the hill?—
Don't they see theyr com'ards comin' and the old flag wavin' still?
And crowds o' little girls in white, jest fairly loaded down!—
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Don't they see theyr com'ards comin' and the old flag wavin' still?
Oh! can't they hear the bugul and the rattle of the drum?—
Ain't they no way under heavens they can rickollect us some?
Ain't they no way we can coax 'em, through the roses, jest to say
They know that ev'ry day on earth's theyr Decoration Day?
Ain't they no way under heavens they can rickollect us some?
Ain't they no way we can coax 'em, through the roses, jest to say
They know that ev'ry day on earth's theyr Decoration Day?
We've tried that—me and Mother,—whare Elias takes his rest,
In the orchurd—in his uniform, and hands acrost his brest,
And the flag he died fer, smilin' and a-ripplin' in the breeze
Above his grave—and over that,—the robin in the trees!
In the orchurd—in his uniform, and hands acrost his brest,
And the flag he died fer, smilin' and a-ripplin' in the breeze
Above his grave—and over that,—the robin in the trees!
And yit it's lonesome—lonesome!—It's a Sund'y-day, to me,
It 'pears-like—more'n any day I nearly ever see!—
Still, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,
On ev'ry soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lily thare.
It 'pears-like—more'n any day I nearly ever see!—
Still, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,
On ev'ry soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lily thare.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |