Reach Your Hand To Me.

    Reach your hand to me, my friend,
        With its heartiest caress -
    Sometime there will come an end
        To its present faithfulness -
    Sometime I may ask in vain
    For the touch of it again,
    When between us land or sea
    Holds it ever back from me.

    Sometime I may need it so,
        Groping somewhere in the night,
    It will seem to me as though
        Just a touch, however light,
    Would make all the darkness day,
    And along some sunny way
    Lead me through an April-shower
    Of my tears to this fair hour.

    O the present is too sweet
        To go on forever thus!
    Round the corner of the street
        Who can say what waits for us? -
    Meeting - greeting, night and day,
    Faring each the self-same way -
    Still somewhere the path must end. -
    Reach your hand to me, my friend!

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

When Early March Seems Middle May

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Serenade

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Leonainie

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Old Chums

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.

The Passing Of A Heart.

    O touch me with your hands -
                For pity's sake!
    My brow throbs ever on with such an ache
    As only your cool touch may take away;
    And so, I pray
                You, touch me with your hands!

    Touch - touch me with your hands. -
                Smooth back the hair
    You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair
    That I did dream its gold would wear alway,
    And lo, to-day -
            O touch me with your hands!

    Just touch me with your hands,
                And let them press
    My weary eyelids with the old caress,
    And lull me till I sleep.    Then go your way,
    That Death may say:
                    He touched her with his hands.

James Whitcomb Riley

My Old Friend

You've a manner all so mellow,
    My old friend,
That it cheers and warms a fellow,
    My old friend,
Just to meet and greet you, and
Feel the pressure of a hand
That one may understand,
    My old friend.

Though dimmed in youthful splendor,
    My old friend,
Your smiles are still as tender,
    My old friend,
And your eyes as true a blue
As your childhood ever knew,
And your laugh as merry, too,
    My old friend.

For though your hair is faded,
    My old friend,
And your step a trifle jaded,
    My old friend,
Old Time, with all his lures
In the trophies he secures,
Leaves young that heart of yours,
    My old friend.

And so it is you cheer me,
    My old friend,
For to know you still are...

James Whitcomb Riley

My Friend.

    "He is my friend," I said, -
    "Be patient!"    Overhead
    The skies were drear and dim;
    And lo! the thought of him
    Smited on my heart - and then
    The sun shone out again!

    "He is my friend!"    The words
    Brought summer and the birds;
    And all my winter-time
    Thawed into running rhyme
    And rippled into song,
    Warm, tender, brave, and strong.

    And so it sings to-day. -
    So may it sing alway!
    Though waving grasses grow
    Between, and lilies blow
    Their trills of perfume clear
    As laughter to the ear,
    Let each mute measure end
    With "Still he is thy friend."

James Whitcomb Riley

Say Something To Me

Say something to me!    I've waited so long -
    Waited and wondered in vain;
Only a sentence would fall like a song
    Over this listening pain -
Over a silence that glowers and frowns, -
    Even my pencil to-night
Slips in the dews of my sorrow and wounds
    Each tender word that I write.

Say something to me - if only to tell
    Me you remember the past;
Let the sweet words, like the notes of a bell,
    Ring out my vigil at last.
O it were better, far better than this
    Doubt and distrust in the breast, -
For in the wine of a fanciful kiss
    I could taste Heaven, and - rest.

Say something to me!    I kneel and I plead,
    In my wild need, for a word;
If my poor heart from this silence were freed,
    I could soar up like...

James Whitcomb Riley

Friend Of A Wayward Hour

Friend of a wayward hour, you came
Like some good ghost, and went the same;
And I within the haunted place
Sit smiling on your vanished face,
    And talking with - your name.

But thrice the pressure of your hand -
First hail - congratulations - and
Your last "God bless you!" as the train
That brought you snatched you back again
    Into the unknown land.

"God bless me?" Why, your very prayer
Was answered ere you asked it there,
I know - for when you came to lend
Me your kind hand, and call me friend,
    God blessed me unaware.

James Whitcomb Riley

A Letter To A Friend

The past is like a story
I have listened to in dreams
That vanished in the glory
Of the Morning's early gleams;
And - at my shadow glancing -
I feel a loss of strength,
As the Day of Life advancing
Leaves it shorn of half its length.

But it's all in vain to worry
At the rapid race of Time -
And he flies in such a flurry
When I trip him with a rhyme,
I'll bother him no longer
Than to thank you for the thought
That "my fame is growing stronger
As you really think it ought."

And though I fall below it,
I might know as much of mirth
To live and die a poet
Of unacknowledged worth;
For Fame is but a vagrant -
Though a loyal one and brave,
And his laurels ne'er so fragrant
As when scattered o'er the grave.

James Whitcomb Riley