The Noble Old Elm

O big old tree, so tall an' fine,
    Where all us childern swings an' plays,
Though neighbers says you're on the line
    Between Pa's house an' Mr. Gray's, -
Us childern used to almost fuss,
    Old Tree, about you when we 'd play. -
We'd argy you belonged to us,
    An' them Gray-kids the other way!

Till Elsie, one time she wuz here
    An' playin' wiv us - Don't you mind,
Old Mister Tree? - an' purty near
    She scolded us the hardest kind
Fer quar'llin' 'bout you thataway,
    An' say she'll find - ef we'll keep still -
Whose tree you air fer shore, she say,
    An' settle it fer good, she will!


So all keep still: An' nen she gone
    An' pat the Old Tree, an' says she, -
"Whose air you, Tree?" an' nen let on
    Like she's a-list'nin' to the Tree, -
An' nen she say, "It's settled, - 'cause
    The Old Tree says he's all our tree -
His trunk belongs to bofe your Pas,
    But shade belongs to you an' me."

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

Das Krist Kindel

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Art And Poetry

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Noey's Night-Piece

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Away

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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The Mulberry Tree

It's many's the scenes which is dear to my mind
As I think of my childhood so long left behind;
The home of my birth, with it's old puncheon-floor,
And the bright morning-glories that growed round the door;
The warped clab-board roof whare the rain it run off
Into streams of sweet dreams as I laid in the loft,
Countin' all of the joys that was dearest to me,
And a-thinkin' the most of the mulberry tree.

And to-day as I dream, with both eyes wide-awake,
I can see the old tree, and its limbs as they shake,
And the long purple berries that rained on the ground
Whare the pastur' was bald whare we trommpt it around.
And again, peekin' up through the thick leafy shade,
I can see the glad smiles of the friends when I strayed
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The Shepherd's Tree

Huge elm, with rifted trunk all notched and scarred,
Like to a warrior's destiny! I love
To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward,
And hear the laugh of summer leaves above;
Or on thy buttressed roots to sit, and lean
In careless attitude, and there reflect
On times, and deeds, and darings that have been--
Old castaways, now swallowed in neglect;
While thou art towering in thy strength of heart,
Stirring the soul to vain imaginings,
In which life's sordid being hath no part.
The wind of that eternal ditty sings,
Humming of future things, that burn the mind
To leave some fragment of itself behind.

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The Child-World

A Child-World, yet a wondrous world no less,
To those who knew its boundless happiness.
A simple old frame house - eight rooms in all -
Set just one side the center of a small
But very hopeful Indiana town, -
The upper-story looking squarely down
Upon the main street, and the main highway
From East to West, - historic in its day,
Known as The National Road - old-timers, all
Who linger yet, will happily recall
It as the scheme and handiwork, as well
As property, of "Uncle Sam," and tell
Of its importance, "long and long afore
Railroads wuz ever dreamp' of!" - Furthermore,
The reminiscent first Inhabitants
Will make that old road blossom with romance
Of snowy caravans, in long parade
Of covered vehicles, of every grade
From ox-cart of most primi...

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The Old Apple-Tree

There's a memory keeps a-runnin'
Through my weary head to-night,
An' I see a picture dancin'
In the fire-flames' ruddy light;
'Tis the picture of an orchard
Wrapped in autumn's purple haze,
With the tender light about it
That I loved in other days.
An' a-standin' in a corner
Once again I seem to see
The verdant leaves an' branches
Of an old apple-tree.

You perhaps would call it ugly,
An' I don't know but it's so,
When you look the tree all over
Unadorned by memory's glow;
For its boughs are gnarled an' crooked,
An' its leaves are gettin' thin,
An' the apples of its bearin'
Would n't fill so large a bin
As they used to. But I tell you,
When it comes to pleasin' me,
It's the dearest in the orchard,--
Is that old apple-tre...

Paul Laurence Dunbar

The Tree-Toad

"'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad,
"I've twittered fer rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And hollered tel noon -
But the sun, hit blazed away,
Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
Weary at hart, and sick at soul!

"Dozed away fer an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin:
    And I sung, and sung,
    Tel I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
    And THEN, thinks I, ef hit don't rain NOW,
    They's nothin' in singin', anyhow!

"Onc't in a while some farmer
Would come a-drivin' past;
    And he'd hear my cry,
    And stop and sigh -
Tel I jest laid back, at last,
    And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat
    Would bust wide open at ever' note!

"But I FETCHED her! - O I FETCHED her! -
'Cause a l...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Tree-Toad.

"'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad,
    "I've twittered far rain all day;
    And I got up soon,
    And I hollered till noon -
    But the sun, hit blazed away,
    Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
    Weary at heart, and sick at soul!

"Dozed away far an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin;
    And I sung, and sung,
    Till I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
    And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now.
    There're nothin' in singin', anyhow!

"Once in awhile some
    Would come a drivin' past;
    And he'd hear my cry,
    And stop and sigh -
    Till I jest laid back, at last,
    And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat
    Would bust right open at ever' note!

"But I fetched her! O

James Whitcomb Riley