The Plaint Human

    Season of snows, and season of flowers,
        Seasons of loss and gain! -
    Since grief and joy must alike be ours,
        Why do we still complain?

    Ever our failing, from sun to sun,
        O my intolerent brother: -
    We want just a little too little of one,
        And much too much of the other.

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

Where the Children used to Play

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

What Smith Knew About Farming

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Dawn, Noon And Dewfall.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Session With Uncle Sidney - IV - And Makes Nursery Rhymes - 2 The Imperious Angler

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Go, Winter!

    Go, Winter!    Go thy ways!    We want again
    The twitter of the bluebird and the wren;
    Leaves ever greener growing, and the shine
            Of Summer's sun - not thine. -

    Thy sun, which mocks our need of warmth and love
    And all the heartening fervencies thereof,
    It scarce hath heat enow to warm our thin
            Pathetic yearnings in.

    So get thee from us!    We are cold, God wot,
    Even as thou art. - We remember not
    How blithe we hailed thy coming. - That was O
            Too long - too long ago!

    Get from us utterly!    Ho!    Summer then
    Shall spread her grasses where thy snows have been,
    And thy last icy footprint melt and mold
            In her first marigold.

James Whitcomb Riley

A New Year's Plaint

In words like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
    Like coarsest clothes against the cold;
    But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.
                        - TENNYSON.

The bells that lift their yawning throats
    And lolling tongues with wrangling cries
Flung up in harsh, discordant notes,
    As though in anger, at the skies, -
Are filled with echoings replete,
    With purest tinkles of delight -
So I would have a something sweet
    Ring in the song I sing to-night.

As when a blotch of ugly guise
    On some poor artist's naked floor
Becomes a picture in his eyes,
    And he forgets that he is poor, -
So I look out upon the night,
    That ushers in the dawning year,
And in a vacant blur of light

James Whitcomb Riley

Winter Fancies

I

Winter without
    And warmth within;
The winds may shout
    And the storm begin;
The snows may pack
    At the window pane,
And the skies grow black,
    And the sun remain
Hidden away
    The livelong day -
But here - in here is the warmth of May!

II

Swoop your spitefullest
    Up the flue,
    Wild Winds - do!
What in the world do I care for you?
O delightfullest
    Weather of all,
    Howl and squall,
And shake the trees till the last leaves fall!

III

The joy one feels,
    In an easy chair,
Cocking his heels
    In the dancing air
That wreathes the rim of a roaring stove
Whose heat loves better than hearts can love,
Will not permit
    The coldest day
 ...

James Whitcomb Riley

Time Of Clearer Twitterings

I.

Time of crisp and tawny leaves,
And of tarnished harvest sheaves,
And of dusty grasses - weeds -
Thistles, with their tufted seeds
Voyaging the Autumn breeze
Like as fairy argosies:
Time of quicker flash of wings,
And of clearer twitterings
In the grove, or deeper shade
Of the tangled everglade, -
Where the spotted water-snake
Coils him in the sunniest brake;
And the bittern, as in fright,
Darts, in sudden, slanting flight,
Southward, while the startled crane
Films his eyes in dreams again.

II

Down along the dwindled creek
We go loitering. We speak
Only with old questionings
Of the dear remembered things
Of the days of long ago,
When the stream seemed thus and so
In our boyish eyes: - The bank
G...

James Whitcomb Riley

Wet-Weather Talk

It hain't no use to grumble and complane;
It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. -
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,
W'y, rain's my choice.

Men ginerly, to all intents -
Although they're apt to grumble some -
Puts most theyr trust in Providence,
And takes things as they come -
    That is, the commonality
    Of men that's lived as long as me
    Has watched the world enugh to learn
    They're not the boss of this concern.

With SOME, of course, it's different -
I've saw YOUNG men that knowed it all,
And didn't like the way things went
On this terrestchul ball; -
    But all the same, the rain, some way,
    Rained jest as hard on picnic day;
    Er, when they railly WANTED it,
    It mayby wouldn't rain a bit!

James Whitcomb Riley

Thought On The Seasons

Flattered with promise of escape
From every hurtful blast,
Spring takes, O sprightly May! thy shape,
Her loveliest and her last.

Less fair is summer riding high
In fierce solstitial power,
Less fair than when a lenient sky
Brings on her parting hour.

When earth repays with golden sheaves
The labours of the plough,
And ripening fruits and forest leaves
All brighten on the bough;

What pensive beauty autumn shows,
Before she hears the sound
Of winter rushing in, to close
The emblematic round!

Such be our Spring, our Summer such;
So may our Autumn blend
With hoary Winter, and Life touch,
Through heaven-born hope, her end!

William Wordsworth