Silence

Thousands of thousands of hushed years ago,
Out on the edge of Chaos, all alone
I stood on peaks of vapor, high upthrown
Above a sea that knew nor ebb nor flow,
Nor any motion won of winds that blow,
Nor any sound of watery wail or moan,
Nor lisp of wave, nor wandering undertone
Of any tide lost in the night below.
So still it was, I mind me, as I laid
My thirsty ear against mine own faint sigh
To drink of that, I sipped it, half afraid
'Twas but the ghost of a dead voice spilled by
The one starved star that tottered through the shade
And came tiptoeing toward me down the sky.

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

Cousin Rufus' Story

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Told By "The Noted Traveler"

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Dear Hands.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

It's Got To Be

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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A Fantasy

A fantasy that came to me
    As wild and wantonly designed
As ever any dream might be
    Unraveled from a madman's mind, -
A tangle-work of tissue, wrought
    By cunning of the spider-brain,
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I stood beneath a summer moon
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Around me I could hear the rush
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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
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    Ring out my vigil at last.
O it were better, far better than this
    Doubt and distrust in the breast, -
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Say something to me!    I kneel and I plead,
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In The Dark.

O in the depths of midnight
    What fancies haunt the brain!
When even the sigh of the sleeper
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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...

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The Wandering Jew

The stars are falling, and the sky
Is like a field of faded flowers;
The winds on weary wings go by;
The moon hides, and the tempest lowers;
And still through every clime and age
I wander on a pilgrimage
That all men know an idle quest,
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I hear the voice of summer streams,
And following, I find the brink
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Returning as I bend to drink -
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I hasten on, nor taste of rest.

I come upon a merry group
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That laughs as it had understood;
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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
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Ripples of the river singing;
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Bells of Parian, and ringing
    Peals of perfume faint and fine,
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Willows dip their slender fingers
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A Song Of Long Ago.

    A song of Long Ago:
    Sing it lightly - sing it low -
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    Let the fragrant summer-breeze,
    And the leaves of locust-trees,
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    Till the happy harmony
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