His Vigil.

    Close the book and dim the light,
    I shall read no more to-night.
    No - I am not sleepy, dear -
    Do not go: sit by me here
    In the darkness and the deep
    Silence of the watch I keep.
    Something in your presence so
    Soothes me - as in long ago
    I first felt your hand - as now -
    In the darkness touch my brow;
    I've no other wish than you
    Thus should fold mine eyelids to,
    Saying nought of sigh or tear -
    Just as God were sitting here.

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 Parent Reprimanded

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Leedle Dutch Baby

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Art And Poetry

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Blooms Of May

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

In The Dark.

O in the depths of midnight
    What fancies haunt the brain!
When even the sigh of the sleeper
    Sounds like a sob of pain.

A sense of awe and of wonder
    I may never well define, -
For the thoughts that come in the shadows
    Never come in the shine.

The old clock down in the parlor
    Like a sleepless mourner grieves,
And the seconds drip in the silence
    As the rain drips from the eaves.

And I think of the hands that signal
    The hours there in the gloom,
And wonder what angel watchers
    Wait in the darkened room.

And I think of the smiling faces
    That used to watch and wait,
Till the click of the clock was answered
    By the click of the opening gate. -

They are not there now in the evening...

James Whitcomb Riley

In The Evening

I

In the evening of our days,
When the first far stars above
Glimmer dimmer, through the haze,
Than the dewy eyes of love,
Shall we mournfully revert
To the vanished morns and Mays
Of our youth, with hearts that hurt, -
In the evening of our days?


II

Shall the hand that holds your own
Till the twain are thrilled as now,
Be withheld, or colder grown?
Shall my kiss upon your brow
Falter from its high estate?
And, in all forgetful ways,
Shall we sit apart and wait -
In the evening of our days?


III

Nay, my wife - my life! - the gloom
Shall enfold us velvetwise,
And my smile shall be the groom
Of the gladness of your eyes:
Gently, gently as the dew
Mingles with the darkening maze,

James Whitcomb Riley

At Noon - And Midnight.

Far in the night, and yet no rest for him! The pillow next his own
The wife's sweet face in slumber pressed - yet he awake - alone! alone!
In vain he courted sleep; - one thought would ever in his heart arise, -
The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops to her eyes.

Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. All was still as death;
He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet, with bated breath:
Still silently, as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly as she slept -
For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and wept.

James Whitcomb Riley

Sleep.

    Orphaned, I cry to thee:
    Sweet sleep!    O kneel and be
    A mother unto me!
        Calm thou my childish fears:
    Fold - fold mine eyelids to, all tenderly,
    And dry my tears.

    Come, Sleep, all drowsy-eyed
    And faint with languor, - slide
    Thy dim face down beside
        Mine own, and let me rest
    And nestle in thy heart, and there abide,
    A favored guest.

    Good night to every care,
    And shadow of despair!
    Good night to all things where
        Within is no delight! -
    Sleep opens her dark arms, and, swooning there,
    I sob: Good night - good night!

James Whitcomb Riley

His Room

"I'm home again, my dear old Room,
I'm home again, and happy, too,
As, peering through the brightening gloom,
I find myself alone with you:
    Though brief my stay, nor far away,
    I missed you - missed you night and day -
    As wildly yearned for you as now. -
    Old Room, how are you, anyhow?

"My easy chair, with open arms,
Awaits me just within the door;
The littered carpet's woven charms
Have never seemed so bright before, -
    The old rosettes and mignonettes
    And ivy-leaves and violets,
    Look up as pure and fresh of hue
    As though baptized in morning dew.

"Old Room, to me your homely walls
Fold round me like the arms of love,
And over all my being falls
A blessing pure as from above -
    Even as a nestling ...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Watches Of The Night.

    O the waiting in the watches of the night!
    In the darkness, desolation, and contrition and affright;
    The awful hush that holds us shut away from all delight:
    The ever weary memory that ever weary goes
    Recounting ever over every aching loss it knows -
    The ever weary eyelids gasping ever for repose -
    In the dreary, weary watches of the night!

    Dark - stifling dark - the watches of the night!
    With tingling nerves at tension, how the blackness flashes white
    With spectral visitations smitten past the inner sight! -
    What shuddering sense of wrongs we've wrought that may not be redressed -
    Of tears we did not brush away - of lips we left unpressed,
    And hands that we let fall, with all their loyalty unguessed!
    Ah! the empt...

James Whitcomb Riley