The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
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 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
1669
ALBUMANIA
Some certain misty yet tenable signs
Of the oracular Raggedy Man,
Happily found in these fugitive lines
Culled from the Album of 'Lizabuth Ann.
Of the oracular Raggedy Man,
Happily found in these fugitive lines
Culled from the Album of 'Lizabuth Ann.
FRIENDSHIP
O friendship, when I muse on you,
As thoughtful minds, O Friendship, do,
I muse, O Friendship, o'er and o'er,
O Friendship—as I said before.
As thoughtful minds, O Friendship, do,
I muse, O Friendship, o'er and o'er,
O Friendship—as I said before.
LIFE
“What is Life?” If the Dead might say,
'Spect they'd answer, under breath,
Sorry-like yet a-laughin':—A
Poor pale yesterday of Death!
'Spect they'd answer, under breath,
Sorry-like yet a-laughin':—A
Poor pale yesterday of Death!
LIFE'S HAPPIEST HOURS
Best, I guess,
Was the old “Recess.”—
'Way back there's where I'd love to be—
Shet of each lesson and hateful rule,
When the whole round World was as sweet to me
As the big ripe apple I brung to School.
Was the old “Recess.”—
'Way back there's where I'd love to be—
1670
When the whole round World was as sweet to me
As the big ripe apple I brung to School.
MARION-COUNTY MAN HOMESICK ABROAD
I, who had hobnobbed with the shades of kings,
And canvassed grasses from old masters' graves,
And in cathedrals stood and looked at things
In niches, crypts and naves;—
My heavy heart was sagging with its woe,
Nor Hope to prop it up, nor Promise, nor
One woman's hands—and O I wanted so
To be felt sorry for!
And canvassed grasses from old masters' graves,
And in cathedrals stood and looked at things
In niches, crypts and naves;—
My heavy heart was sagging with its woe,
Nor Hope to prop it up, nor Promise, nor
One woman's hands—and O I wanted so
To be felt sorry for!
BIRDY! BIRDY!
The Redbreast loves the blooming bough—
The Bluebird loves it same as he;—
And as they sit and sing there now,
So do I sing to thee—
Only, dear heart, unlike the birds,
I do not climb a tree
To sing—
I do not climb a tree.
The Bluebird loves it same as he;—
And as they sit and sing there now,
So do I sing to thee—
Only, dear heart, unlike the birds,
I do not climb a tree
To sing—
I do not climb a tree.
When o'er this page, in happy years to come,
Thou jokest on these lines and on my name,
Doubt not my love and say, “Though he lies dumb,
He's lying, just the same!”
Thou jokest on these lines and on my name,
Doubt not my love and say, “Though he lies dumb,
He's lying, just the same!”
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |