 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
III
JAMES NEWTON MATTHEWS
Bard of our Western world!—its prairies wide,With edging woods, lost creeks and hidden ways;
Its isolated farms, with roundelays
Of orchard warblers heard on every side;
Its cross-road schoolhouse, wherein still abide
Thy fondest memories,—since there thy gaze
First fell on classic verse; and thou, in praise
Of that, didst find thine own song glorified.
So singing, smite the strings and counterchange
The lucently melodious drippings of
Thy happy harp, from airs of “Tempe Vale,”
To chirp and trill of lowliest flight and range,
In praise of our To-day and home and love—
Thou meadow-lark no less than nightingale.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |