The Singer.

    While with Ambition's hectic flame
    He wastes the midnight oil,
    And dreams, high-throned on heights of fame,
        To rest him from his toil, -

    Death's Angel, like a vast eclipse,
        Above him spreads her wings,
    And fans the embers of his lips
        To ashes as he sings.

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 Katydids

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Old Man And Jim

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

To The Serenader.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Say Something To Me

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To The Serenader.

    Tinkle on, O sweet guitar,
        Let the dancing fingers
    Loiter where the low notes are
        Blended with the singer's:
    Let the midnight pour the moon's
        Mellow wine of glory
    Down upon him through the tune's
        Old romantic story!

    I am listening, my love,
        Through the cautious lattice,
    Wondering why the stars above
        All are blinking at us;
    Wondering if his eyes from there
        Catch the moonbeam's shimmer
    As it lights the robe I wear
        With a ghostly glimmer.

    Lilt thy song, and lute away
        In the wildest fashion: -
    Pour thy rippling roundelay
        O'er the heights of passion! -
    Flash it down the fretted strings
        Till thy mad ...

James Whitcomb Riley

Singer And Song.

    A singer sang in sorrow long
    And breathed his life into his song.

    Unknown, unheard, the song went wide,
    Until the singer, starving, died.

    Now in their hearts the nations write
    And wear the singer's song of might.

    Ah, singers fail and fall from view,
    But songs are always, always new!

    If garlands none to singers cling,
    Bays wreathe above the songs they sing.

Freeman Edwin Miller

A Southern Singer.

    Written In Madison Caweln's "Lyrics and Idyls."

    Herein are blown from out the South
    Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed mouth -
    As sweet in voice as, in perfume,
    The night-breath of magnolia-bloom.

    Such sumptuous languor lures the sense -
    Such luxury of indolence -
    The eyes blur as a nymph's might blur,
    With water-lilies watching her.

    You waken, thrilling at the trill
    Of some wild bird that seems to spill
    The silence full of winey drips
    Of song that Fancy sips and sips.

    Betimes, in brambled lanes wherethrough
    The chipmunk stripes himself from view,
    You pause to lop a creamy spray
    Of elder-blossoms by the way.

    Or where the morning dew is yet
    Gra...

James Whitcomb Riley

When Evening Shadows Fall

When evening shadows fall,
    She hangs her cares away
Like empty garments on the wall
    That hides her from the day;
And while old memories throng,
    And vanished voices call,
She lifts her grateful heart in song
    When evening shadows fall.

Her weary hands forget
    The burdens of the day.
The weight of sorrow and regret
    In music rolls away;
And from the day's dull tomb,
    That holds her in its thrall,
Her soul springs up in lily bloom
    When evening shadows fall.

O weary heart and hand,
    Go bravely to the strife -
No victory is half so grand
    As that which conquers life!
One day shall yet be thine -
    The day that waits for all
Whose prayerful eyes are things divine
    When evening shad...

James Whitcomb Riley

Envoy

Many pleasures of youth have been buoyantly sung -
And, borne on the winds of delight, may they beat
With their palpitant wings at the hearts of the Young,
And in bosoms of Age find as warm a retreat! -
Yet sweetest of all of the musical throng,
Though least of the numbers that upward aspire,
Is the one rising now into wavering song,
As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire.

'Tis a Winter long dead that beleaguers my door
And muffles his steps in the snows of the past:
And I see, in the embers I'm dreaming before,
Lost faces of love as they looked on me last: -
The round, laughing eyes of the desk-mate of old
Gleam out for a moment with truant desire -
Then fade and are lost in a City of Gold,
As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire.

And t...

James Whitcomb Riley

Longfellow.

    The winds have talked with him confidingly;
        The trees have whispered to him; and the night
        Hath held him gently as a mother might,
    And taught him all sad tones of melody:
    The mountains have bowed to him; and the sea,
        In clamorous waves, and murmurs exquisite,
        Hath told him all her sorrow and delight -
    Her legends fair - her darkest mystery.
        His verse blooms like a flower, night and day;
    Bees cluster round his rhymes; and twitterings
        Of lark and swallow, in an endless May,
    Are mingling with the tender songs he sings. -
        Nor shall he cease to sing - in every lay
        Of Nature's voice he sings - and will alway.

James Whitcomb Riley