Riley

His Birthday, October the 7th, 1912

Riley, whose pen has made the world your debtor,
Whose Art has kept you young through sixty years,
Brimming our hearts with laughter and with tears,
Holding her faith pure to the very letter:
We come to you today, both man and woman,
And happy little children, girl and boy,
To laurel you with all our love and joy,
And crown you for the dreams your pen made human:
For Orphant Annie and for Old Aunt Mary,
The Raggedty Man, who never will grow older,
And all the kindly folks from Griggsby's Station,
Immortal throngs, with Spirk and Wunk and Faery,
Who swarm behind you, peering o'er your shoulder,
Sharing with you the blessings of a Nation.

Madison Julius Cawein

Madison Julius Cawein was born on March 23, 1865, in Louisville, Kentucky and died on December 8, 1914. Known as the “Keats of Kentucky,” his poetry often focused on nature, mythology, and the lush landscapes of his home state. Throughout his lifetime, Cawein published more than 30 books of poetry. He is remembered for his vivid and descriptive style and his ability to capture the beauty of the natural world. His works provide a window into the pastoral and often mystical world of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Madison Julius Cawein

The Dead Day

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

The Rain-Crow.

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

Sea Dreams.

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

A Long, Long Way

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

English

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Dedication: Riley Child-Rhymes

With Hale Affection And Abiding Faith These Rhymes And Pictures Are Inscribed To The Children Everywhere




He owns the bird-songs of the hills -
The laughter of the April rills;
And his are all the diamonds set
In Morning's dewy coronet, -
And his the Dusk's first minted stars
That twinkle through the pasture-bars
And litter all the skies at night
With glittering scraps of silver light; -
The rainbow's bar, from rim to rim,
In beaten gold, belongs to him.

James Whitcomb Riley

The Birthday Party

Had a birthday yesterday.
First one for, I think, a year.
Won't have one again, they say,
Till another year is here.
Funny, don't you think so? I
Can't just understand now why.

Anyhow my birthday came;
And I had, oh! lots of things
Birthday gifts I just can't name,
Even count them: toys and rings;
Hoops and books and hats. Indeed,
Everything that I don't need.

What I wanted was n't suits;
Wooden toys and"Wonderland";
But a hoe to dig up roots;
And a spade to shovel sand;
Rake to rake where father said
He has made a flower-bed.

But I did n't get them; and
Did n't get a box of paints,
Which I wanted. I raised sand,
Till my mother said, "My saints!
If you don't behave yourself,
Party'll be laid on the shelf."

Madison Julius Cawein

The Birthday

Sweetheart, where all the dancing joys compete
Take now your choice; the world is at your feet,
All turned into a gay and shining pleasance,
And every face has smiles to greet your presence.
    Treading on air,
    Yourself you look more fair;
And the dear Birthday-elves unseen conspire
To flush your cheeks and set your eyes on fire.

Mayhap they whisper what a birthday means
That sets you spinning through your pretty teens.
A slim-grown shape adorned with golden shimmers
Of tossing hair that streams and waves and glimmers,
    Lo, how you run
    In mere excess of fun,
Or change to silence as you stand and hear
Some kind old tale that moves you to a tear.

And, since this is your own bright day, my dear,
Of all the days that gem the sparkling ...

R. C. Lehmann

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

To James Whitcomb Riley, In Affectionate Memory Of Other Days

    Our dearest joys forever flow
    From fountains of the Long Ago,
    That from the heights of pleasures past
    Flood all the present valleys vast,
    And with eternal glees provide
    The future's endless ocean tide.


    To ope each cage where a heartless age
        Hath chained the birds of singing,
    Till Love's own glee that is fond and free
        Shall laugh where they are winging,--
    Such is my wish. 'Tis true, hold I,
    That songs, like birds, in bondage die.

Freeman Edwin Miller

The Old Man

Lo! steadfast and serene,
In patient pause between
The seen and the unseen,
    What gentle zephyrs fan
Your silken silver hair, -
And what diviner air
Breathes round you like a prayer,
    Old Man?

Can you, in nearer view
Of Glory, pierce the blue
Of happy Heaven through;
    And, listening mutely, can
Your senses, dull to us,
Hear Angel-voices thus,
In chorus glorious -
    Old Man?

In your reposeful gaze
The dusk of Autumn days
Is blent with April haze,
    As when of old began
The bursting of the bud
Of rosy babyhood -
When all the world was good,
    Old Man.

And yet I find a sly
Little twinkle in your eye;
And your whisperingly shy
    Little laugh is simply an
Internal shout o...

James Whitcomb Riley