The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
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“GO READ YOUR BOOK!” |
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 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
2107
“GO READ YOUR BOOK!”
How many times that grim old phrase
Has silenced me, in childish days!—
And now—as then it did—
The phantom admonition, clear
And dominant, rings,—and I hear,
And do as I am bid.
Has silenced me, in childish days!—
And now—as then it did—
The phantom admonition, clear
And dominant, rings,—and I hear,
And do as I am bid.
“Go read your book!” my good old sire
Commanded, in affected ire,
When I, with querying look
And speech, dared vex his studious mind
With idle words of any kind.—
And so I read my book.
Commanded, in affected ire,
When I, with querying look
And speech, dared vex his studious mind
With idle words of any kind.—
And so I read my book.
Though seldom, in that wisest age,
Did I discern on Wisdom's page
More than the task: That led
At least to thinking, and at last
To reading less, and not so fast,
And longing as I read.
Did I discern on Wisdom's page
More than the task: That led
At least to thinking, and at last
To reading less, and not so fast,
And longing as I read.
And, lo! in gracious time, I grew
To love a book all through and through!—
With yearning eyes I look
On any volume,—old, maybe,
Or new—'tis meat and drink to me.—
And so I read my book.
To love a book all through and through!—
With yearning eyes I look
2108
Or new—'tis meat and drink to me.—
And so I read my book.
Old dog's-eared Readers, scarred and inked
With schoolboy hatred, long extinct;—
Old Histories that bored
Me worst of all the school;—old, worn
Arithmetics, frayed, ripped, and torn—
Now Ye are all adored.
With schoolboy hatred, long extinct;—
Old Histories that bored
Me worst of all the school;—old, worn
Arithmetics, frayed, ripped, and torn—
Now Ye are all adored.
And likewise I revere and praise
My sire, as now, with vainest gaze
And hearing, still I look
For the old face so grave yet dear—
Nay, still I see, and still I hear!
And so I read my book.
My sire, as now, with vainest gaze
And hearing, still I look
For the old face so grave yet dear—
Nay, still I see, and still I hear!
And so I read my book.
Next even to my nearest kin,—
My wife—my children romping in
From school to ride my knee,—
I love a book, and dispossess
My lap of it with loathfulness,
For all their love of me.
My wife—my children romping in
From school to ride my knee,—
I love a book, and dispossess
My lap of it with loathfulness,
For all their love of me.
For, grave or gay the book, it takes
Me as an equal—calms, or makes
Me, laughing, overlook
My little self—forgetful all
Of being so exceeding small.
And so I read my book.
Me as an equal—calms, or makes
Me, laughing, overlook
My little self—forgetful all
Of being so exceeding small.
And so I read my book.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |