Poems List
Song
'Why do I sing--Tra-la-la-la-la!
Glad as a King?--Tra-la-la-la-la!
Well, since you ask,--
I have such a pleasant task,
I can not help but sing!
'Why do I smile--Tra-la-la-la-la!
Working the while?--Tra-la-la-la-la!
Work like this is play,--
So I'm playing all the day--
I can not help but smile!
'So, If you please--Tra-la-la-la-la!
Live at your ease!--Tra-la-la-la-la!
You've only got to turn,
And, you see, its bound to churn--
I can not help but please!'
The farmer pondered and scratched his head,
Reading over each mystic word.-'
Some o' the Dreamer's work!' he said-'
Ah, here's more--and name and date
In his hand-write'!'--And the good man read,-''
Patent applied for, July third,
Eighteen hundred and forty-eight'!'
The fragment fell from his nerveless grasp--
His awed lips thrilled with the joyous gasp:
'I see the p'int to the whole concern,-He's
studied out a patent churn!'
Some Scattering Remarks Of Bub's
Wunst I looked our pepper-box lid
An' cut little pie-dough biscuits, I did,
And cooked 'em on our stove one day
When our hired girl she said I may.
_Honey's_ the goodest thing--Oo-_ooh_!
And blackberry-pies is goodest, too!
But wite hot biscuits, ist soakin'-wet
Wiv tree-mullasus, is goodest yet!
Miss Maimie she's my Ma's friend,--an'
She's purtiest girl in all the lan'!--
An' sweetest smile an' voice an' face--
An' eyes ist looks like p'serves tas'e'!
I _ruther_ go to the Circus-show;
But, 'cause my _parunts_ told me so,
I ruther go to the Sund'y School,
'Cause there I learn the goldun rule.
Say, Pa,--what _is_ the goldun rule
'At's allus at the Sund'y School?
Sister Jones's Confession
I thought the deacon liked me, yit
I warn't adzackly shore of it--
Fer, mind ye, time and time agin,
When jiners 'ud be comin' in,
I'd seed him shakin' hands as free
With all the sistern as with me!
But jurin' last Revival, where
He called on _me_ to lead in prayer,
An' kneeled there with me, side by side,
A-whisper'n' 'he felt sanctified
Jes' tetchin of my gyarment's hem,'--
That settled things as fur as them-
Thare other wimmin was concerned!-And--
well!--I know I must a-turned
A dozen colors!--_Flurried_?--_la_!--
No mortal sinner never saw
A gladder widder than the one
A-kneelin' there and wonderun'
Who'd pray'--So glad, upon my word,
I railly could n't thank the Lord!
September Dark
1
The air falls chill;
The whippoorwill
Pipes lonesomely behind the Hill:
The dusk grows dense,
The silence tense;
And lo, the katydids commence.
2
Through shadowy rifts
Of woodland lifts
The low, slow moon, and upward drifts,
While left and right
The fireflies' light
Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night.
3
O Cloudland gray
And level lay
Thy mists across the face of Day!
At foot and head,
Above the dead
O Dews, weep on uncomforted!
Say Something To Me
Say something to me! I've waited so long--
Waited and wondered in vain;
Only a sentence would fall like a song
Over this listening pain--
Over a silence that glowers and frowns,--
Even my pencil to-night
Slips in the dews of my sorrow and wounds
Each tender word that I write.
Say something to me--if only to tell
Me you remember the past;
Let the sweet words, like the notes of a bell,
Ring out my vigil at last.
O it were better, far better than this
Doubt and distrust in the breast,--
For in the wine of a fanciful kiss
I could taste Heaven, and--rest.
Say something to me! I kneel and I plead,
In my wild need, for a word;
If my poor heart from this silence were freed,
I could soar up like a bird
In the glad morning, and twitter and sing,
Carol and warble and cry
Blithe as the lark as he cruises awing
Over the deeps of the sky.
Robert Burns Wilson
What intuition named thee?--Through what thrill
Of the awed soul came the command divine
Into the mother-heart, foretelling thine
Should palpitate with his whose raptures will
Sing on while daisies bloom and lavrocks trill
Their undulating ways up through the fine
Fair mists of heavenly reaches? Thy pure line
Falls as the dew of anthems, quiring still
The sweeter since the Scottish singer raised
His voice therein, and, quit of every stress
Of earthly ache and longing and despair,
Knew certainly each simple thing he praised
Was no less worthy, for its lowliness,
Than any joy of all the glory There.
Regardin' Terry Hut
Sence I tuk holt o' Gibbses' Churn
And be'n a-handlin' the concern,
I've travelled round the grand old State
Of Indiany, lots, o' late--!
I've canvassed Crawferdsville and sweat
Around the town o' Layfayette;
I've saw a many a County-seat
I ust to think was hard to beat:
At constant dreenage and expense
I've worked Greencastle and Vincennes--
Drapped out o' Putnam into Clay,
Owen, and on down thataway
Plum into Knox, on the back-track
Fer home ag'in-- and glad I'm back--!
I've saw these towns, as I say-- but
They's none 'at beats old Terry Hut!
It's more'n likely you'll insist
I claim this 'cause I'm prejudist,
Bein' born'd here in ole Vygo
In sight o' Terry Hut--; but no,
Yer clean dead wrong--! And I maintain
They's nary drap in ary vein
O' mine but what's as free as air
To jest take issue with you there--!
'Cause, boy and man, fer forty year,
I've argied ag'inst livin' here,
And jawed around and traded lies
About our lack o' enterprise,
And tuk and turned in and agreed
All other towns was in the lead,
When-- drat my melts--! They couldn't cut
No shine a-tall with Terry Hut!
Take even, statesmanship, and wit,
And ginerel git-up-and-git,
Old Terry Hut is sound clean through--!
Turn old Dick Thompson loose, er Dan
Vorehees-- and where's they any man
Kin even hold a candle to
Their eloquence--? And where's as clean
A fi-nan-seer as Rile' McKeen--
Er puorer, in his daily walk,
In railroad er in racin' stock!
And there's 'Gene Debs-- a man 'at stands
And jest holds out in his two hands
As warm a heart as ever beat
Betwixt here and the Jedgement Seat--!
All these is reasons why I putt
Sich bulk o' faith in Terry Hut.
So I've come back, with eyes 'at sees
My faults, at last--, to make my peace
With this old place, and truthful' swear--
Like Gineral Tom Nelson does--,
'They hain't no city anywhere
On God's green earth lays over us!'
Our city government is grand-'
Ner is they better farmin'-land
Sun-kissed--' as Tom goes on and says-'
Er dower'd with sich advantages!'
And I've come back, with welcome tread,
From journeyin's vain, as I have said,
To settle down in ca'm content,
And cuss the towns where I have went,
And brag on ourn, and boast and strut
Around the streets o' Terry Hut!
Reach Your Hand To Me
Reach your hand to me, my friend,
With its heartiest caress--
Sometime there will come an end
To its present faithfulness--
Sometime I may ask in vain
For the touch of it again,
When between us land or sea
Holds it ever back from me.
Sometime I may need it so,
Groping somewhere in the night,
It will seem to me as though
Just a touch, however light,
Would make all the darkness day,
And along some sunny way
Lead me through an April-shower
Of my tears to this fair hour.
O the present is too sweet
To go on forever thus!
Round the corner of the street
Who can say what waits for us?-Meeting--
greeting, night and day,
Faring each the self-same way--
Still somewhere the path must end.--
Reach your hand to me, my friend!
Private Theatricals
A quite convincing axiom
Is, 'Life is like a play';
For, turning back its pages some
Few dog-eared years away,
I find where I
Committed my
Love-tale--with brackets where to sigh.
I feel an idle interest
To read again the page;
I enter, as a lover dressed,
At twenty years of age,
And play the part
With throbbing heart,
And all an actor's glowing art.
And she who plays my Lady-love
Excels!--Her loving glance
Has power her audience to move--
I am her audience.--
Her acting tact,
To tell the fact,
'Brings down the house' in every act.
And often we defy the curse
Of storms and thunder-showers,
To meet together and rehearse
This little play of ours--
I think, when she
'Makes love' to me,
She kisses very naturally!
. . . . . .
Yes; it's convincing--rather--
That 'Life is like a play':
I am playing 'Heavy Father'
In a 'Screaming Farce' to-day,
That so 'brings down
The house,' I frown,
And fain would 'ring the curtain down.'
Plain Sermons
I saw a man--and envied him beside--
Because of this world's goods he had great store;
But even as I envied him, he died,
And left me envious of him no more.
I saw another man--and envied still--
Because he was content with frugal lot;
But as I envied him, the rich man's will
Bequeathed him all, and envy I forgot.
Yet still another man I saw, and he
I envied for a calm and tranquil mind
That nothing fretted in the least degree--
Until, alas! I found that he was blind.
What vanity is envy! for I find
I have been rich in dross of thought, and poor
In that I was a fool, and lastly blind
For never having seen myself before!
Comments (0)
NoComments
James Whitcomb Riley "Little Orphant Annie" Poem animation
James Whitcomb Riley: Hoosier Poet (2017) | WTIU Documentaries
Was Little Orphan Annie Real? Exploring James Whitcomb Riley's Mansion
The Hoosier Poet: The life and career of James Whitcomb Riley
Poetry Out Loud: Aidyn Reid recites "The Days Gone By" by James Whitcomb Riley
The Raggedy Man - James Whitcomb Riley - Poem animation
When the Frost is on the Punkin ~by James Whitcomb Riley - read by Brian Lowry
Famous Graves - Poet James Whitcomb Riley at Crown Hill Cemetery Indianapolis
James Whitcomb Riley: Hoosier Poet
The Rainy Morning by James Whitcomb Riley
Fight over ownership of James Whitcomb Riley artifacts could put museum in jeopardy
Little Orphant Annie by James Whitcomb Riley read by A Poetry Channel
Out to Old Aunt Mary's by James Whitcomb Riley
A Biography of James Whitcomb Riley
"When the Frost is On the Punkin"
The Edgar Allan Poe Hoax | James Whitcomb Riley: Hoosier Poet | WTIU
Riley with Kids on Lockerbie Street
THE RAGGEDY MAN RECITED BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY, 1912
InHistory episode 7 James Whitcomb Riley | in.gov
“Out To Old Aunt Mary's” poem by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916) Harry E. Humphrey
At Last - James Whitcomb Riley
Where the Children Used to Play by James Whitcomb Riley
The Raggedy Man Poem recited by the author James Whitcomb Riley rare 78 rpm
James Whitcomb Riley -The Old Swimming Hole
James Whitcomb Riley."The Raggedy Man" Poem Animation
“Out To Old Aunt Mary's” poem by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916) Harry E. Humphrey recites
James Whitcomb Riley Boyhood Home & Museum.mp4
"The Raggedy Man"James Whitcomb Riley poemRecited by Harry E. Humphrey
To Santa Claus - James Whitcomb Riley
500 festival princess visits James Whitcomb Riley School 43
Little Orphant Annie by James Whitcomb Riley - Read by Sue Whitehead
"The Days Gone By" Poem written by James Whitcomb Riley. IIlluminations Project
Little Orfant Annie, by James Whitcomb Riley
NC Poetry Out Loud 2009 - "The Old Swimmin' Hole" by James Whitcomb Riley
🎬"Out to Old Aunt Mary's" by James Whitcomb Riley
Knee Deep In June By James Whitcomb Riley
The Old Swimming Hole by James Whitcomb Riley
Wet Weather Talk - James Whitcomb Riley
Shortenin' Bread - James Whitcomb Riley (1900)
James Whitcomb Riley - The Old Swimming Hole
James Whitcomb Riley - A Good Man
James Whitcomb Riley - His Mother
THE DAYS GONE BY
James Whitcomb Riley A Life Indiana
IF I KNEW WHAT POETS KNOW BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
James Whitcomb Riley: Young Poet by Minnie Belle Mitchell · Audiobook preview
Fight over ownership of James Whitcomb Riley artifacts could put museum in jeopardy
The Raggedy Man by James Whitcomb Riley
Day 38: Old Aunt Mary's by James Whitcomb Riley
The Old Swimmin' Hole James Whitcomb Riley