Dedication To Hewitt Hanson Howland With Halest Christmas Greetings And Fraternal

    Little Boy! Halloo! - halloo!
        Can't you hear me calling you? -
    Little Boy that used to be,
        Come in here and play with me.

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

To Robert Burns

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Full Harvest.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Where Shall We Land?

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

In Bohemia.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Dedication: Riley Child-Rhymes

With Hale Affection And Abiding Faith These Rhymes And Pictures Are Inscribed To The Children Everywhere




He owns the bird-songs of the hills -
The laughter of the April rills;
And his are all the diamonds set
In Morning's dewy coronet, -
And his the Dusk's first minted stars
That twinkle through the pasture-bars
And litter all the skies at night
With glittering scraps of silver light; -
The rainbow's bar, from rim to rim,
In beaten gold, belongs to him.

James Whitcomb Riley

Das Krist Kindel

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight
Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;
And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne"
The old split-bottomed rocker - and was musing all alone.

I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door,
And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor;
But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream
That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream.

Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar,
With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded star;
And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away,
With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh.

And in a vision, painted like a pictur...

James Whitcomb Riley

Das Krist Kindel

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight
Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;
And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne" -
The old split-bottomed rocker - and was musing all alone.

I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door,
And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor;
But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream
That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream.

Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar,
With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded star; -
And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away,
With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh.

And in a vision, painted like a pi...

James Whitcomb Riley

John Alden And Percilly.

    We got up a Christmas-doin's
        Last Christmas Eve -
    Kindo' dimonstration
        'At I railly believe
    Give more satisfaction -
        Take it up and down -
    Than ary intertainment
        Ever come to town!

    Railly was a theater -
        That's what it was, -
    But, bein' in the church, you know,
        We had a "Santy Clause" -
    So 's to git the old folks
        To patternize, you see,
    And back the institootion up
        Kindo' morally.

    Schoolteacher writ the thing -
        (Was a friend o' mine),
    Got it out o' Longfeller's
        Pome "Evangeline" -
    Er some'rs - 'bout the Purituns - .
        Anyway, the part
    "...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Funny Little Fellow
'Twas a Funny Little Fellow
Of the very purest type,
For he had a heart as mellow
As an apple over-ripe;
And the brightest little twinkle
When a funny thing occurred,
And the lightest little tinkle
Of a laugh you ever heard!

His smile was like the glitter
Of the sun in tropic lands,
And his talk a sweeter twitter
Than the swallow understands;
Hear him sing - and tell a story -
Snap a joke - ignite a pun, -
'Twas a capture - rapture - glory,
And explosion - all in one!

Though he hadn't any money -
That condiment which tends
To make a fellow "honey"
For the palate of his friends; -
Sweet simples he compounded -
Sovereign antidotes for sin
Or taint, - a faith unbounded
That his friends were genuine.

He was...
James Whitcomb Riley

James B. Maynard
His daily, nightly task is o'er -
He leans above his desk no more.

His pencil and his pen say not
One further word of gracious thought.

All silent is his voice, yet clear
For all a grateful world to hear;

He poured abroad his human love
In opulence unmeasured of -

While, in return, his meek demand, -
The warm clasp of a neighbor-hand

In recognition of the true
World's duty that he lived to do.

So was he kin of yours and mine -
So, even by the hallowed sign

Of silence which he listens to,
He hears our tears as falls the dew.
James Whitcomb Riley