An Impromptu Fairy-Tale

When I wuz ist a little bit
    o' weenty-teenty kid
I maked up a Fairy-tale,
    all by myse'f, I did: - 



I

Wunst upon a time wunst
    They wuz a Fairy King,
An' ever'thing he have wuz gold - ,
    His clo'es, an' ever'thing!
An' all the other Fairies
    In his goldun Palace-hall
Had to hump an' hustle -
    'Cause he wuz bosst of all!



II

He have a goldun trumput,
    An' when he blow' on that,
It's a sign he want' his boots,
    Er his coat er hat:
They's a sign fer ever'thing, -
    An' all the Fairies knowed
Ever' sign, an' come a-hoppin'
    When the King blowed!



III

Wunst he blowed an' telled 'em all:
    "Saddle up yer bees -
Fireflies is gittin' fat
    An' sassy as you please! -
Guess we'll go a-huntin'!"
    So they hunt' a little bit,
Till the King blowed "Supper-time,"
    Nen they all quit.



IV

Nen they have a Banqut
    In the Palace-hall,
An' ist et! an' et! an' et!
    Nen they have a Ball;
An' when the Queen o' Fairyland
    Come p'omenadin' through,
The King says an' halts her, -
    "Guess I'll marry you!"

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

Down To The Capital

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Like His Mother Used To Make

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Donn Piatt Of Mac-O-Chee.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Our Boyhood Haunts

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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A Home-Made Fairy Tale

Bud, come here to your uncle a spell,
And I'll tell you something you mustn't tell -
For it's a secret and shore-'nuf true,
And maybe I oughtn't to tell it to you!
But out in the garden, under the shade
Of the apple-trees, where we romped and played
Till the moon was up, and you thought I'd gone
Fast asleep, That was all put on!
For I was a-watchin' something queer
Goin' on there in the grass, my dear!
'Way down deep in it, there I see
A little dude-Fairy who winked at me,
And snapped his fingers, and laughed as low
And fine as the whine of a mus-kee-to!
I kept still - watchin' him closer - and
I noticed a little guitar in his hand,
Which he leant 'ginst a little dead bee - and laid
His cigarette down on a clean grass-blade,
And then climbed up on th...

James Whitcomb Riley

Floretty's Musical Contribution

All seemed delighted, though the elders more,
Of course, than were the children. - Thus, before
Much interchange of mirthful compliment,
The story-teller said his stories "went"
(Like a bad candle) best when they went out, -
And that some sprightly music, dashed about,
Would wholly quench his "glimmer," and inspire
Far brighter lights.

    And, answering this desire,
The flutist opened, in a rapturous strain
Of rippling notes - a perfect April-rain
Of melody that drenched the senses through; -
Then - gentler - gentler - as the dusk sheds dew,
It fell, by velvety, staccatoed halts,
Swooning away in old "Von Weber's Waltz."
Then the young ladies sang "Isle of the Sea" -
In ebb and flow and wave so billowy, -
Only with quave...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Pixy People

It was just a very
Merry fairy dream! -
All the woods were airy
With the gloom and gleam;
Crickets in the clover
Clattered clear and strong,
And the bees droned over
Their old honey-song.

In the mossy passes,
Saucy grasshoppers
Leapt about the grasses
And the thistle-burs;
And the whispered chuckle
Of the katydid
Shook the honeysuckle
Blossoms where he hid.

Through the breezy mazes
Of the lazy June,
Drowsy with the hazes
Of the dreamy noon,
Little Pixy people
Winged above the walk,
Pouring from the steeple
Of a mullein-stalk.

One - a gallant fellow -
Evidently King, -
Wore a plume of yellow
In a jewelled ring
On a pansy bonnet,
Gold and white and blue,
With the dew still on...

James Whitcomb Riley

Bud's Fairy-Tale

Some peoples thinks they ain't no Fairies now
No more yet! - But they is, I bet! 'Cause ef
They wuzn't Fairies, nen I' like to know
Who'd w'ite 'bout Fairies in the books, an' tell
What Fairies does, an' how their picture looks,
An' all an' ever'thing! W'y, ef they don't
Be Fairies anymore, nen little boys
'U'd ist sleep when they go to sleep an' wont
Have ist no dweams at all, - 'Cause Fairies - good
Fairies - they're a-purpose to make dweams!
But they is Fairies - an' I know they is!
'Cause one time wunst, when its all Summertime,
An' don't haf to be no fires in the stove
Er fireplace to keep warm wiv - ner don't haf
To wear old scwatchy flannen shirts at all,
An' aint no fweeze - ner cold - ner snow!...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Fairy Rade.

        I.

Ai me! why stood I on the bent
When Summer wept o'er dying June!
I saw the Fairy Folk ride faint
    Aneath the moon.


        II.

The haw-trees hedged the russet lea
Where cuckoo-buds waxed rich with gold;
The wealthy corn rose yellowly
    Endlong the wold.


        III.

Betwixt the haw-trees and the mead
"The Fairy Rade" came glimmering on;
A creamy cavalcade did speed
    O'er the green lawn.


        IV.

The night was ringing with their reins;
Loud laughed they till the cricket hushed;
The whistles on their coursers' manes
    Shrill music gushed.


        V.

The whistles tagged their horses' manes
All crystal clear; on these a wind
Fore...

Madison Julius Cawein

Romancin'

I' b'en a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, and I'm
About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know
When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto' solum-like and low!

You git my idy, do you? - LITTLE tads, you understand -
Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a MAN. -
Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,
And fergittin' all that's in it, wishm' jest the other way!

I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate
Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate, -
But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,
And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do! -

I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,
Whare the haze...

James Whitcomb Riley