The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
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WHEN UNCLE DOC WAS YOUNG |
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 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
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WHEN UNCLE DOC WAS YOUNG
Though Doctor Glen—the best of men—
Is wrinkled, old, and gray,
He'll always smile and stop a while
Where little children play:
And often then he tells us, when
He was a youngster, too,
He was as glad and bad a lad
As old folks ever knew!
Is wrinkled, old, and gray,
He'll always smile and stop a while
Where little children play:
And often then he tells us, when
He was a youngster, too,
He was as glad and bad a lad
As old folks ever knew!
As he walks down, no boy in town
But sees him half a block,
And stops to shout a welcome out
With “Here comes Uncle Doc!”
Then all the rest, they look their best
As he lines up among
Us boys of ten—each thinking then
When Uncle Doc was young.
But sees him half a block,
And stops to shout a welcome out
With “Here comes Uncle Doc!”
Then all the rest, they look their best
As he lines up among
Us boys of ten—each thinking then
When Uncle Doc was young.
We run to him!—Though grave and grim,
With voice pitched high and thin,
He still reveals the joy he feels
In all that he has been:
With heart too true, and honest, too,
To ever hide a truth,
He frankly owns, in laughing tones,
He was “a sorry youth!”—
With voice pitched high and thin,
He still reveals the joy he feels
In all that he has been:
2110
To ever hide a truth,
He frankly owns, in laughing tones,
He was “a sorry youth!”—
When he was young, he says, he sung
And howled his level-best;
He says he guyed, and sneaked, and lied,
And wrecked the robin's nest.—
All this, and worse, will he rehearse,
Then smooth his snowy locks
And look the saint he says he ain't. ...
Them eyes of Uncle Doc's!
And howled his level-best;
He says he guyed, and sneaked, and lied,
And wrecked the robin's nest.—
All this, and worse, will he rehearse,
Then smooth his snowy locks
And look the saint he says he ain't. ...
Them eyes of Uncle Doc's!
He says, when he—like you and me—
Was just too low and mean
To slap asleep, he used to weep
To find his face was clean:
His hair, he said, was just too red
To tell with mortal tongue—
“The Burning Shame” was his nickname
When Uncle Doc was young.
Was just too low and mean
To slap asleep, he used to weep
To find his face was clean:
His hair, he said, was just too red
To tell with mortal tongue—
“The Burning Shame” was his nickname
When Uncle Doc was young.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |