Song - Subtlety

[R.B.]


Whilst little Paul, convalescing, was staying
Close indoors, and his boisterous classmates paying

    Him visits, with fresh school-notes and surprises, -
With nettling pride they sprung the word "Athletic,"
With much advice and urgings sympathetic
    Anent "Athletic exercises." Wise as
Lad might look, quoth Paul: "I've pondered o'er that
'Athletic,' but I mean to take, before that,
    Downstairic and outdooric exercises."

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

Elizabeth.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Her Hair

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Waitin' Fer The Cat To Die

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Tree-Toad.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Friday Afternoon

TO WILLIAM MORRIS PIERSON

[1868-1870]

Of the wealth of facts and fancies
    That our memories may recall,
The old school-day romances
    Are the dearest, after all! - .
When some sweet thought revises
    The half-forgotten tune
That opened "Exercises"
    On "Friday Afternoon."

We seem to hear the clicking
    Of the pencil and the pen,
And the solemn, ceaseless ticking
    Of the timepiece ticking then;
And we note the watchful master,
    As he waves the warning rod,
With our own heart beating faster
    Than the boy's who threw the wad.

Some little hand uplifted,
    And the creaking of a shoe: -
A problem left unsifted
    For the teacher's hand to do:
The murmured hum of learning -
    And the ...

James Whitcomb Riley

(From a Westerner's Point of View.)

No matter what you call it,
Whether genius, or art,
He sings the simple songs that come
The closest to your heart.
Fur trim an' skillful phrases,
I do not keer a jot;
'Tain't the words alone, but feelin's,
That tech the tender spot.
An' that's jest why I love him,--
Why, he's got sech human feelin',
An' in ev'ry song he gives us,
You kin see it creepin', stealin',
Through the core the tears go tricklin',
But the edge is bright an' smiley;
I never saw a poet
Like that poet Whitcomb Riley.

His heart keeps beatin' time with our'n
In measures fast or slow;
He tells us jest the same ol' things
Our souls have learned to know.
He paints our joys an' sorrers
In a way so stric'ly true,
T...

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Johnson's Boy

The world is turned ag'in' me,
    And people says, "They guess
That nothin' else is in me
    But pure maliciousness!"
I git the blame for doin'
    What other chaps destroy,
And I'm a-goin' to ruin
    Because I'm "Johnson's boy."

THAT ain't my name - I'd ruther
    They'd call me IKE or PAT -
But they've forgot the other -
    And so have I, for that!
I reckon it's as handy,
    When Nibsy breaks his toy,
Or some one steals his candy,
    To say 'twas "JOHNSON'S BOY!"

You can't git any water
    At the pump, and find the spout
So durn chuck-full o' mortar
    That you have to bore it out;
You tackle any scholar
    In Wisdom's wise employ,
And I'll bet you half a dollar
    He'll say it's "Johnson's boy!...

James Whitcomb Riley

June At Woodruff.

    Out at Woodruff Place - afar
    From the city's glare and jar,
    With the leafy trees, instead
    Of the awnings, overhead;
    With the shadows cool and sweet,
    For the fever of the street;
    With the silence, like a prayer,
    Breathing round us everywhere.

    Gracious anchorage, at last,
    From the billows of the vast
    Tide of life that comes and goes,
    Whence and where nobody knows -
    Moving, like a skeptic's thought,
    Out of nowhere into naught.
    Touch and tame us with thy grace,
    Placid calm of Woodruff Place!

    Weave a wreath of beechen leaves
    For the brow that throbs and grieves
    O'er the ledger, bloody-lined,
    'Neath the sun-struck window-blind!
    Send the breath of woodl...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Old School-Chum

He puts the poem by, to say
His eyes are not themselves to-day!

A sudden glamour o'er his sight -
A something vague, indefinite -

An oft-recurring blur that blinds
The printed meaning of the lines,

And leaves the mind all dusk and dim
In swimming darkness - strange to him!

It is not childishness, I guess, -
Yet something of the tenderness

That used to wet his lashes when
A boy seems troubling him again; -

The old emotion, sweet and wild,
That drove him truant when a child,

That he might hide the tears that fell
Above the lesson - "Little Nell."

And so it is he puts aside
The poem he has vainly tried

To follow; and, as one who sighs
In failure, through a poor disguise

Of smiles, he ...

James Whitcomb Riley

Our Boyhood Haunts

Ho! I'm going back to where
We were youngsters. - Meet me there,
Dear old barefoot chum, and we
Will be as we used to be, -
Lawless rangers up and down
The old creek beyond the town -
Little sunburnt gods at play,
Just as in that far-away: -
Water nymphs, all unafraid,
Shall smile at us from the brink
Of the old millrace and wade
Tow'rd us as we kneeling drink
At the spring our boyhood knew,
Pure and clear as morning-dew:

And, as we are rising there,
Doubly dow'rd to hear and see,
We shall thus be made aware
Of an eerie piping, heard
High above the happy bird
In the hazel: And then we,
Just across the creek, shall see
(Hah! the goaty rascal!) Pan
Hoof it o'er the sloping green,
Mad with his own melody,
Aye, and (bl...

James Whitcomb Riley