Dream-March

"Wasn't it a funny dream! - perfectly bewild'rin'! -
    Last night, and night before, and night before that,
Seemed like I saw the march o' regiments o' children,
    Marching to the robin's fife and cricket's rat-ta-tat!
Lily-banners overhead, with the dew upon 'em,
    On flashed the little army, as with sword and flame;
Like the buzz o' bumble-wings, with the honey on 'em,
    Came an eerie, cheery chant, chiming as it came: -


Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling!
    Where go the children, travelling ahead?
Some go to kindergarten; some go to day-school;
    Some go to night-school; and some go to bed!


Smooth roads or rough roads, warm or winter weather,
    On go the children, tow-head and brown,
Brave boys and brave girls, rank and file together,
    Marching out of Morning-Land, over dale and down:


Some go a-gypsying out in country places -
    Out through the orchards, with blossoms on the boughs
Wild, sweet, and pink and white as their own glad faces;
    And some go, at evening, calling home the cows.


Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling!
    Where go the children, travelling ahead?
Some go to foreign wars, and camps by the firelight -
    Some go to glory so; and some go to bed!


Some go through grassy lanes leading to the city -
    Thinner grow the green trees and thicker grows the dust;
Ever, though, to little people any path is pretty
    So it leads to newer lands, as they know it must.
Some go to singing less; some go to list'ning;
    Some go to thinking over ever-nobler themes;
Some go anhungered, but ever bravely whistling,
    Turning never home again only in their dreams.

Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling!
    Where go the children, travelling ahead?
Some go to conquer things; some go to try them;
    Some go to dream them; and some go to bed!

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

Song - Born To The Purple

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

James B. Maynard

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Green Fields And Running Brooks

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Dedication To Hewitt Hanson Howland With Halest Christmas Greetings And Fraternal

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Through Sleepy-Land

Where do you go when you go to sleep,
Little Boy! Little Boy! where?
'Way - 'way in where's Little Bo-Peep,
And Little Boy Blue, and the Cows and Sheep
A-wandering 'way in there; - in there -
    A-wandering 'way in there!

And what do you see when lost in dreams,
Little Boy, 'way in there?
Firefly-glimmers and glowworm-gleams,
And silvery, low, slow-sliding streams,
And mermaids, smiling out - 'way in where
    They're a-hiding - 'way in there!

Where do you go when the Fairies call,
Little Boy! Little Boy! where?
Wade through the clews of the grasses tall,
Hearing the weir and the waterfall
And the Wee Folk - 'way in there - in there -
    And the Kelpies - 'way in there!

And what do you do when you wake at dawn,
Little Boy! Li...

James Whitcomb Riley

Where-Away.

    O the Lands of Where-Away!
    Tell us - tell us - where are they?
    Through the darkness and the dawn
    We have journeyed on and on -
    From the cradle to the cross -
    From possession unto loss, -
    Seeking still, from day to day,
    For the lands of Where-Away.

    When our baby-feet were first
    Planted where the daisies burst,
    And the greenest grasses grew
    In the fields we wandered through,
    On, with childish discontent,
    Ever on and on we went,
    Hoping still to pass, some day,
    O'er the verge of Where-Away.

    Roses laid their velvet lips
    On our own, with fragrant sips;
    But their kisses held us not,
    All their sweetness we forgot; -
    Though the brambles in our track
...

James Whitcomb Riley

Mr. Hammond's Parable

THE DREAMER

I

He was a Dreamer of the Days:
    Indolent as a lazy breeze
Of midsummer, in idlest ways
    Lolling about in the shade of trees.
The farmer turned - as he passed him by
    Under the hillside where he kneeled
Plucking a flower - with scornful eye
    And rode ahead in the harvest field
Muttering - "Lawz! ef that-air shirk
    Of a boy was mine fer a week er so,
He'd quit dreamin' and git to work
    And airn his livin' - er - Well! I know!"
And even kindlier rumor said,
Tapping with finger a shaking head, -
"Got such a curious kind o' way -
Wouldn't surprise me much, I say!"

Lying limp, with upturned gaze
Idly dreaming away his days.
No companions? Yes, a book
Sometimes under his ar...

James Whitcomb Riley

Babyhood.

Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger:
    Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray;
Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger
    Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away.

Turn back the leaves of life; don't read the story, -
    Let's find the pictures, and fancy all the rest: -
We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory
    Than Old Time, the story-teller, at his very best!

Turn to the brook, where the honeysuckle, tipping
    O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze,
And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping
    From the fairy flagons of the blooming locust trees.

Turn to the lane, where we used to "teeter-totter,"
    Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mold,
Laughing at the lazy ca...

James Whitcomb Riley

We Must Get Home

We must get home! How could we stray like this? -
So far from home, we know not where it is, -
Only in some fair, apple-blossomy place
Of children's faces - and the mother's face -
We dimly dream it, till the vision clears
Even in the eyes of fancy, glad with tears.

We must get home - for we have been away
So long, it seems forever and a day!
And O so very homesick we have grown,
The laughter of the world is like a moan
In our tired hearing, and its song as vain, -
We must get home - we must get home again!

We must get home! With heart and soul we yearn
To find the long-lost pathway, and return!...
The child's shout lifted from the questing band
Of old folk, faring weary, hand in hand,
But faces brightening, as if clouds at last
Were showering...

James Whitcomb Riley

When Early March Seems Middle May

When country roads begin to thaw
    In mottled spots of damp and dust,
And fences by the margin draw
    Along the frosty crust
Their graphic silhouettes, I say,
The Spring is coming round this way.

When morning-time is bright with sun
And keen with wind, and both confuse
The dancing, glancing eyes of one
    With tears that ooze and ooze -
And nose-tips weep as well as they,
The Spring is coming round this way.

When suddenly some shadow-bird
Goes wavering beneath the gaze,
And through the hedge the moan is heard
    Of kine that fain would graze
In grasses new, I smile and say,
The Spring is coming round this way.

When knotted horse-tails are untied,
And teamsters whistle here and there.
And clumsy mitts are laid aside

James Whitcomb Riley