Last Night - And This.

    Last night - how deep the darkness was!
    And well I knew its depths, because
    I waded it from shore to shore,
    Thinking to reach the light no more.

    She would not even touch my hand. -
    The winds rose and the cedars fanned
    The moon out, and the stars fled back
    In heaven and hid - and all was black!

    But ah!    To-night a summons came,
    Signed with a teardrop for a name, -
    For as I wondering kissed it, lo,
    A line beneath it told me so.

    And now - the moon hangs over me
    A disk of dazzling brilliancy,
    And every star-tip stabs my sight
    With splintered glitterings of light!

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.

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English

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Last Night - And This

Last night - how deep the darkness was!
And well I knew its depths, because
I waded it from shore to shore,
Thinking to reach the light no more.

She would not even touch my hand.
The winds rose and the cedars fanned
The moon out, and the stars fled back
In heaven and hid - and all was black!

But ah! To-night a summons came,
Signed with a tear-drop for a name,
For as I wondering kissed it, lo
A line beneath it told me so.

And now - the moon hangs over me
A disk of dazzling brilliancy,
And every star-tip stabs my sights
With splintered glitterings of light!

James Whitcomb Riley

Moon-Drowned.

'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot,
    And quietly stole to the terrace alone,
Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it,
    The moon it 
We stood there enchanted. - And O the delight of
    The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea,
And the infinite skies of that opulent night of
    Purple and gold and ivory!

The lisp of the lip of the ripple just under -
    The half-awake nightingale's dream in the yews -
Came up from the water, and down from the wonder
    Of shadowy foliage, drowsed with the dews, -
Unsteady the firefly's taper - unsteady
    The poise of the stars, and their light in the tide,
As it struggled and writhed in caress of the eddy,
    As love in the billowy breast of a ...

James Whitcomb Riley

That Night

You and I, and that night, with its perfume and glory! -
    The scent of the locusts - the light of the moon;
And the violin weaving the waltzers a story,
    Enmeshing their feet in the weft of the tune,
    Till their shadows uncertain
    Reeled round on the curtain,
    While under the trellis we drank in the June.

Soaked through with the midnight the cedars were sleeping,
    Their shadowy tresses outlined in the bright
Crystal, moon-smitten mists, where the fountain's heart, leaping
    Forever, forever burst, full with delight;
    And its lisp on my spirit
    Fell faint as that near it
    Whose love like a lily bloomed out in the night.

O your glove was an odorous sachet of blisses!
    The breath of your fan was a breeze from Cathay!
An...

James Whitcomb Riley

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

A Dream Of Long Ago

Lying listless in the mosses
Underneath a tree that tosses
Flakes of sunshine, and embosses
    Its green shadow with the snow -
Drowsy-eyed, I sink in slumber
Born of fancies without number -
Tangled fancies that encumber
    Me with dreams of long ago.

Ripples of the river singing;
And the water-lilies swinging
Bells of Parian, and ringing
    Peals of perfume faint and fine,
While old forms and fairy faces
Leap from out their hiding-places
In the past, with glad embraces
    Fraught with kisses sweet as wine.

Willows dip their slender fingers
O'er the little fisher's stringers,
While he baits his hook and lingers
    Till the shadows gather dim;
And afar off comes a calling
Like the sounds of water falling,
With the...

James Whitcomb Riley

September Dark.

    I.

    The air falls chill;
    The whip-poor-will
    Pipes lonesomely behind the hill:
    The dusk grows dense,
    The silence tense;
    And lo, the katydids commence.


    II.

    Through shadowy rifts
    Of woodland, lifts
    The low, slow moon, and upward drifts,
    While left and right
    The fireflies' light
    Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night.


    III.

    O Cloudland, gray
    And level, lay
    Thy mists across the face of Day!
    At foot and head,
    Above the dead,
    O Dews, weep on uncomforted!

James Whitcomb Riley