The Rival.

    I so loved once, when Death came by I hid
    Away my face,
    And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid
    To make my hiding-place.

    The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and
    I turned me then
    To calm my love - kiss down her shielding hand
    And comfort her again.

    And lo! she answered not: And she did sit
    All fixedly,
    With her fair face and the sweet smile of it,
    In love with Death, not 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

The Good, Old-Fashioned People

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

We Must Get Home

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Glimpse Of Pan.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Serenade

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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From the Headboard of a Grave in Paraguay

A troth, and a grief, and a blessing,
Disguised them and came this way,
And one was a promise, and one was a doubt,
And one was a rainy day.

And they met betimes with this maiden,
And the promise it spake and lied,
And the doubt it gibbered and hugged itself,
And the rainy day - she died.

James Whitcomb Riley

Dearth

I hold your trembling hand to-night - and yet
I may not know what wealth of bliss is mine,
My heart is such a curious design
Of trust and jealousy! Your eyes are wet -
So must I think they jewel some regret,
And lo, the loving arms that round me twine
Cling only as the tendrils of a vine
Whose fruit has long been gathered: I forget,
While crimson clusters of your kisses press
Their wine out on my lips, my royal fair
Of rapture, since blind fancy needs must guess
They once poured out their sweetness otherwhere,
With fuller flavoring of happiness
Than e'en your broken sobs may now declare.

James Whitcomb Riley

Three Dead Friends.

Always suddenly they are gone -
    The friends we trusted and held secure -
Suddenly we are gazing on,
    Not a smiling face, but the marble-pure
Dead mask of a face that nevermore
    To a smile of ours will make reply -
    The lips close-locked as the eyelids are -
Gone - swift as the flash of the molten ore
    A meteor pours through a midnight sky,
    Leaving it blind of a single star.

Tell us, O Death, Remorseless Might!
    What is this old, unescapable ire
You wreak on us? - from the birth of light
    Till the world be charred to a core of fire!
We do no evil thing to you -
    We seek to evade you - that is all -
    That is your will - you will not be known
Of men. What, then, would you have us do? -
    Cringe, and wait ti...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Dead Lover

Time is so long when a man is dead!
Some one sews; and the room is made
Very clean; and the light is shed
Soft through the window-shade.

Yesterday I thought: "I know
Just how the bells will sound, and how
The friends will talk, and the sermon go,
And the hearse-horse bow and bow!"

This is to-day; and I have no thing
To think of - nothing whatever to do
But to hear the throb of the pulse of a wing
That wants to fly back to you.

James Whitcomb Riley

A Leave-Taking.

She will not smile;
    She will not stir;
I marvel while
    I look on her.
    The lips are chilly
        And will not speak;
    The ghost of a lily
        In either cheek.

Her hair - ah me!
    Her hair - her hair!
How helplessly
    My hands go there!
    But my caresses
        Meet not hers,
    O golden tresses
        That thread my tears!

I kiss the eyes
    On either lid,
Where her love lies
    Forever hid.
    I cease my weeping
        And smile and say:
    I will be sleeping
        Thus, some day!

James Whitcomb Riley

In The Evening

I

In the evening of our days,
When the first far stars above
Glimmer dimmer, through the haze,
Than the dewy eyes of love,
Shall we mournfully revert
To the vanished morns and Mays
Of our youth, with hearts that hurt, -
In the evening of our days?


II

Shall the hand that holds your own
Till the twain are thrilled as now,
Be withheld, or colder grown?
Shall my kiss upon your brow
Falter from its high estate?
And, in all forgetful ways,
Shall we sit apart and wait -
In the evening of our days?


III

Nay, my wife - my life! - the gloom
Shall enfold us velvetwise,
And my smile shall be the groom
Of the gladness of your eyes:
Gently, gently as the dew
Mingles with the darkening maze,

James Whitcomb Riley