The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
 | 1. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 5. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 6. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 7. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 8. |
A DIVERTED TRAGEDY |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 3. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 9. |
 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
2015
A DIVERTED TRAGEDY
Gracie wuz allus a careless tot;
But Gracie dearly loved her doll,
An' played wiv it on the winder-sill
'Way up-stairs, when she ought to not,
An' her muvver telled her so an' all;
But she won't mind what she say—till,
First thing she know, her dolly fall
Clean spang out o' the winder, plumb
Into the street! An' here Grace come
Down-stairs, two at a time, ist wild
An' a-screamin', “Oh, my child! my child!”
But Gracie dearly loved her doll,
An' played wiv it on the winder-sill
'Way up-stairs, when she ought to not,
An' her muvver telled her so an' all;
But she won't mind what she say—till,
First thing she know, her dolly fall
Clean spang out o' the winder, plumb
Into the street! An' here Grace come
Down-stairs, two at a time, ist wild
An' a-screamin', “Oh, my child! my child!”
Jule wuz a-bringin' their basket o' clo'es
Ist then into their hall down there,—
An' she ist stop' when Gracie bawl,
An Jule she say “She ist declare
She's ist in time!” An' what you s'pose?
She sets her basket down in the hall,
An' wite on top o' the snowy clo'es
Wuz Gracie's dolly a-layin' there
An' ist ain't bu'st ner hurt a-tall!
Nen Gracie smiled—ist sobbed an' smiled—
An' cried, “My child! my precious child!”
Ist then into their hall down there,—
An' she ist stop' when Gracie bawl,
An Jule she say “She ist declare
She's ist in time!” An' what you s'pose?
She sets her basket down in the hall,
An' wite on top o' the snowy clo'es
Wuz Gracie's dolly a-layin' there
An' ist ain't bu'st ner hurt a-tall!
Nen Gracie smiled—ist sobbed an' smiled—
An' cried, “My child! my precious child!”
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |