Old Chums

"If I die first," my old chum paused to say,
    "Mind! not a whimper of regret: - instead,
    Laugh and be glad, as I shall. - Being dead,
I shall not lodge so very far away
But that our mirth shall mingle. - So, the day
    The word comes, joy with me." "I'll try," I said,
    Though, even speaking, sighed and shook my head
And turned, with misted eyes. His roundelay
Rang gaily on the stair; and then the door
    Opened and - closed. . . . Yet something of the clear,
    Hale hope, and force of wholesome faith he had
Abided with me - strengthened more and more. -
    Then - then they brought his broken body here:
    And I laughed - whisperingly - and we were glad.

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

Uncle Sidney To Marcellus

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Beautiful Hands.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

An Old Year's Address

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Wrangdillion

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Mr. What's-His-Name.

They called him Mr. What's-his-name:
From where he was, or why he came,
Or when, or what he found to do,
Nobody in the city knew.

He lived, it seemed, shut up alone
In a low hovel of his own;
There cooked his meals and made his bed,
Careless of all his neighbors said.

His neighbors, too, said many things
Expressive of grave wonderings,
Since none of them had ever been
Within his doors, or peered therein.

In fact, grown watchful, they became
Assured that Mr. What's-his-name
Was up to something wrong - indeed,
Small doubt of it, we all agreed.

At night were heard strange noises there,
When honest people everywhere
Had long retired; and his light
Was often seen to burn all night.

He left his house but seldom - the...

James Whitcomb Riley

John Mckeen.

John McKeen, in his rusty dress,
    His loosened collar, and swarthy throat;
His face unshaven, and none the less,
His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness,
    And the wealth of a workman's vote!

Bring him, O Memory, here once more,
    And tilt him back in his Windsor chair
By the kitchen-stove, when the day is o'er
And the light of the hearth is across the floor,
    And the crickets everywhere!

And let their voices be gladly blent
    With a watery jingle of pans and spoons,
And a motherly chirrup of sweet content,
And neighborly gossip and merriment,
    And old-time fiddle-tunes!

Tick the clock with a wooden sound,
    And fill the hearing with childish glee
Of rhyming riddle, or story found
In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-boun...

James Whitcomb Riley

It's Got To Be

"When it's got to be," - like! always say,
As I notice the years whiz past,
And know each day is a yesterday,
When we size it up, at last, -
Same as I said when my boyhood went
And I knowed we had to quit, -
"It's got to be, and it's goin' to be!" -
So I said "Good-by" to it.

It's got to be, and it's goin' to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say in a hearty way, -
    "Well, it's got to be. Good-by!"

The time jes melts like a late, last snow, -
When it's got to be, it melts!
But I aim to keep a cheerful mind,
Ef I can't keep nothin' else!
I knowed, when I come to twenty-one,
That I'd soon be twenty-two, -
So I waved one hand at the soft young man,
And I said...

James Whitcomb Riley

John McKeen

John McKeen, in his rusty dress,
His loosened collar, and swarthy throat,
His face unshaven, and none the less,
His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness,
And the wealth of a workman's vote!

Bring him, O Memory, here once more,
And tilt him back in his Windsor chair
By the kitchen stove, when the day is o'er
And the light of the hearth is across the floor,
And the crickets everywhere!

And let their voices be gladly blent
With a watery jingle of pans and spoons,
And a motherly chirrup of sweet content,
And neighborly gossip and merriment,
And old-time fiddle-tunes!

Tick the clock with a wooden sound,
And fill the hearing with childish glee
Of rhyming riddle, or story found
In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-bound
Old book of the Used-...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Dead Joke And The Funny Man

Long years ago, a funny man,
    Flushed with a strange delight,
Sat down and wrote a funny thing
    All in the solemn night;
And as he wrote he clapped his hands
    And laughed with all his might.
    For it was such a funny thing,
    O, such a very funny thing,
    This wonderfully funny thing,
    He
    Laughed
        Outright.

And so it was this funny man
    Printed this funny thing -
Forgot it, too, nor ever thought
    It worth remembering,
Till but a day or two ago.
    (Ah! what may changes bring!)
    He found this selfsame funny thing
    In an exchange - "O, funny thing!"
    He cried, "You dear old funny thing!"
    And
    Sobbed
        Outright.

James Whitcomb Riley

When Old Jack Died

When Old Jack died, we stayed from school (they said,
At home, we needn't go that day), and none
Of us ate any breakfast - only one,
And that was Papa - and his eyes were red
When he came round where we were, by the shed
Where Jack was lying, half-way in the sun
And half-way in the shade. When we begun
To cry out loud, Pa turned and dropped his head
And went away; and Mamma, she went back
Into the kitchen. Then, for a long while,
All to ourselves, like, we stood there and cried.
We thought so many good things of Old Jack,
And funny things - although we didn't smile -
We couldn't only cry when Old Jack died.

When Old Jack died, it seemed a human friend
Had suddenly gone from us; that some face
That we had loved to fondle and embrace
From babyhood, no...

James Whitcomb Riley