On The Sunny Side

Hi and whoop-hooray, boys!
Sing a song of cheer!
Here's a holiday, boys,
Lasting half a year!
Round the world, and half is
Shadow we have tried;
Now we're where the laugh is, -
On the sunny side!

Pigeons coo and mutter,
Strutting high aloof
Where the sunbeans flutter
Through the stable roof.
Hear the chickens cheep, boys,
And the hen with pride
Clucking them to sleep, boys,
On the sunny side!

Hear the clacking guinea;
Hear the cattle moo;
Hear the horses whinny,
Looking out at you!
On the hitching-block, boys,
Grandly satisfied,
See the old peacock, boys,
On the sunny side!

Robins in the peach-tree;
Bluebirds in the pear;
Blossoms over each tree
In the orchard there!
All the world's in joy, boys,
Glad and glorified
As a romping boy, boys,
On the sunny side!

Where's a heart as mellow?
Where's a soul as free?
Where is any fellow
We would rather be?
Just ourselves or none, boys,
World around and wide,
Laughing in the sun, boys,
On the sunny side!

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

The Old Year And The New.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Hoss

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Prospective Visit

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

This Man Jones.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Thoughts Fer The Discuraged Farmer

The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees;
And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees,
And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly,
Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly.
The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings
And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings;
And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz,
And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is.

You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow -
Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how;
So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing -
But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing:
And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest,
She's a...

James Whitcomb Riley

Right Here At Home.

    Right here at home, boys, in old Hoosierdom,
    Where strangers allus joke us when they come,
    And brag o' their old States and interprize -
    Yit settle here; and 'fore they realize,
    They're "hoosier" as the rest of us, and live
    Right here at home, boys, with their past fergive!

    Right here at home, boys, is the place, I guess,
    Fer me and you and plain old happiness:
    We hear the World's lots grander - likely so, -
    We'll take the World's word fer it and not go. -
    We know its ways aint our ways - so we'll stay
    Right here at home, boys, where we know the way.

    Right here at home, boys, where a well-to-do
    Man's plenty rich enough - and knows it, too,
    And's got a' extry dollar, any t...

James Whitcomb Riley

A Song Of Singing

Sing! gangling lad, along the brink
    Of wild brook-ways of shoal and deep,
Where killdees dip, and cattle drink,
    And glinting little minnows leap!
Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above
    And sets the foot-log quivering!
Sing! bittern, bumble-bee, and dove -
    Sing! Sing! Sing!

Sing as you will, O singers all
    Who sing because you want to sing!
Sing! peacock on the orchard wall,
    Or tree-toad by the trickling spring!
Sing! every bird on every bough -
    Sing! every living, loving thing -
Sing any song, and anyhow,
    But Sing! Sing! Sing!

James Whitcomb Riley

Says He

"Whatever the weather may be," says he--
    "Whatever the weather may be
It's plaze, if ye will, an' I'll say me say,--
Supposin' to-day was the winterest day,
Wud the weather be changing because ye cried,
Or the snow be grass were ye crucified?
The best is to make your own summer," says he,
"Whatever the weather may be," says he--
    "Whatever the weather may be!

"Whatever the weather may be," says he--
    "Whatever the weather may be,
It's the songs ye sing, an' the smiles ye wear,
That's a-makin' the sun shine everywhere;
An' the world of gloom is a world of glee,
Wid the bird in the bush, an' the bud in the tree,
An' the fruit on the stim of the bough," says he,
"Whatever the weather may be," says he--
    "Whatever the weather may be!
<...

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

The Boys

Where are they? - the friends of my childhood enchanted -
The clear, laughing eyes looking back in my own,
And the warm, chubby fingers my palms have so wanted,
As when we raced over
    Pink pastures of clover,
And mocked the quail's whir and the bumblebee's drone?

Have the breezes of time blown their blossomy faces
Forever adrift down the years that are flown?
Am I never to see them romp back to their places,
Where over the meadow,
    In sunshine and shadow,
The meadow-larks trill, and the bumblebees drone?

Where are they? Ah! dim in the dust lies the clover;
The whippoorwill's call has a sorrowful tone,
And the dove's - I have wept at it over and over; -
I want the glad luster
    Of youth, and the cluster
Of faces asleep where the bumbleb...

James Whitcomb Riley