A Scrawl

I want to sing something - but this is all -
I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull
As though they were damp, and the echoes fall
Limp and unlovable.

Words will not say what I yearn to say -
They will not walk as I want them to,
But they stumble and fall in the path of the way
Of my telling my love for you.

Simply take what the scrawl is worth -
Knowing I love you as sun the sod
On the ripening side of the great round earth
That swings in the smile of God.

James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley was an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. He was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and the "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and children's poetry respectively. Over his career, Riley authored approximately 1,000 poems, including "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man". His influence extended into the 20th century, and his works continued to be celebrated for their nostalgic and rural themes.

James Whitcomb Riley

A Poet's Wooing

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Art And Poetry

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Very Youthful Affair

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Autumn.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Inscribed: Riley Love-Lyrics

To the Elect of Love, - or side-by-side
In raptest ecstasy, or sundered wide
By seas that bear no message to or fro
Between the loved and lost of long ago.




So were I but a minstrel, deft
At weaving, with the trembling strings
Of my glad harp, the warp and weft
Of rondels such as rapture sings, -
    I'd loop my lyre across my breast,
    Nor stay me till my knee found rest
    In midnight banks of bud and flower
    Beneath my lady's lattice-bower.

And there, drenched with the teary dews,
I'd woo her with such wondrous art
As well might stanch the songs that ooze
Out of the mockbird's breaking heart;
    So light, so tender, and so sweet
    Should be the words I would repeat,
    Her casement, on my gradual sight,
...

James Whitcomb Riley

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...

James Whitcomb Riley

Scraps

There's a habit I have nurtured,
    From the sentimental time
When my life was like a story,
    And my heart a happy rhyme, -
Of clipping from the paper,
    Or magazine, perhaps,
The idle songs of dreamers,
    Which I treasure as my scraps.

They hide among my letters,
    And they find a cozy nest
In the bosom of my wrapper,
    And the pockets of my vest;
They clamber in my fingers
    Till my dreams of wealth relapse
In fairer dreams than Fortune's
    Though I find them only scraps.

Sometimes I find, in tatters
    Like a beggar, form as fair
As ever gave to Heaven
    The treasure of a prayer;
And words all dim and faded,
    And obliterate in part,
Grow into fadeless meanings
    That are printed on the h...

James Whitcomb Riley

An Autumnal Extravaganza

With a sweeter voice than birds
    Dare to twitter in their sleep,
Pipe for me a tune of words,
    Till my dancing fancies leap
Into freedom vaster far
Than the realms of Reason are!
Sing for me with wilder fire
    Than the lover ever sung,
From the time he twanged the lyre
    When the world was baby-young.

O my maiden Autumn, you -
You have filled me through and through
With a passion so intense,
All of earthly eloquence
    Fails, and falls, and swoons away
In your presence.    Like as one
Who essays to look the sun
    Fairly in the face, I say,
Though my eyes you dazzle blind
Greater dazzled is my mind.
So, my Autumn, let me kneel
    At your feet and worship you!
Be my sweetheart; let me feel
Your caress; and t...

James Whitcomb Riley

A Ditty Of No Tone.

Piped to the Spirit of John Keats.

    I.

    Would that my lips might pour out in thy praise
        A fitting melody - an air sublime, -
    A song sun-washed and draped in dreamy haze -
        The floss and velvet of luxurious rhyme:
    A lay wrought of warm languors, and o'er-brimmed
        With balminess, and fragrance of wild flowers
            Such as the droning bee ne'er wearies of -
    Such thoughts as might be hymned
        To thee from this midsummer land of ours
            Through shower and sunshine blent for very love.


    II.

    Deep silences in woody aisles wherethrough
        Cool paths go loitering, and where the trill
    Of best-remembered birds hath something new
        In cadence for the hea...

James Whitcomb Riley

Evensong

Lay away the story, -
    Though the theme is sweet,
There's a lack of something yet,
    Leaves it incomplete: -
There's a nameless yearning -
    Strangely undefined -
For a story sweeter still
    Than the written kind.

Therefore read no longer -
    I've no heart to hear
But just something you make up,
    O my mother dear. -
With your arms around me,
    Hold me, folded-eyed, -
Only let your voice go on -
    I'll be satisfied.

James Whitcomb Riley