The Stepmother

First she come to our house,
    Tommy run and hid;
And Emily and Bob and me
    We cried jus' like we did
When Mother died, - and we all said
'At we all wisht 'at we was dead!

And Nurse she couldn't stop us;
    And Pa he tried and tried, -
We sobbed and shook and wouldn't look,
    But only cried and cried;
And nen some one - we couldn't jus'
Tell who - was cryin' same as us!

Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her,
    Her arms around us all -
'Cause Tom slid down the banister
    And peeked in from the hall. -
And we all love her, too, because
She's purt' nigh good as Mother was!

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 Same Old Story

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Treasure Of The Wise Man

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Canary At the Farm

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Inscribed: Riley Love-Lyrics

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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A Mother-Song

Mother, O mother! forever I cry for you,
    Sing the old song I may never forget;
Even in slumber I murmur and sigh for you. -
    Mother, O mother,
        Sing low, "Little brother,
Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!"

Mother, O mother! the years are so lonely,
    Filled but with weariness, doubt and regret!
Can't you come back to me - for to-night only,
    Mother, my mother,
        And sing, "Little brother,
Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!"

Mother, O mother! of old I had never
    One wish denied me, nor trouble to fret;
Now - must I cry out all vainly forever, -
    Mother, sweet mother,
        O sing, "Little brother,
Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!"

Mother, O mother! must longing and sorrow

James Whitcomb Riley

A Christmas Memory

Pa he bringed me here to stay
    'Til my Ma she's well. - An' nen
He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day,
    An' come take me back again
Wher' my Ma's at! Won't I be
Tickled when he comes fer me!

My Ma an' my A'nty they
    'Uz each-uvver's sisters. Pa -
A'nty telled me, th' other day, -
    He comed here an' married Ma....
A'nty said nen, "Go run play,
    I must work now!" ... An' I saw,
When she turn' her face away,
    She 'uz cryin'. - An' nen I
    'Tend-like I "run play" - an' cry.

This-here house o' A'nty's wher'
They 'uz borned - my Ma an' her! -
An' her Ma 'uz my Ma's Ma,
An' her Pa 'uz my Ma's Pa -


Ain't that funny? - An' they're dead:
An' this-here's "th' ole Homestead." -
An' my A'nty said, an' cried,

James Whitcomb Riley

Song - The Dolly's Mother

[W.W.]


A little maid, of summers four -
    Did you compute her years, -
And yet how infinitely more
    To me her age appears:

I mark the sweet child's serious air,
    At her unplayful play, -
The tiny doll she mothers there
    And lulls to sleep away,

Grows - 'neath the grave similitude -
    An infant real, to me,
And she a saint of motherhood
    In hale maturity.

So, pausing in my lonely round,
    And all unseen of her,
I stand uncovered - her profound
    And abject worshipper.

James Whitcomb Riley

His Mother's Way

    Tomps 'ud allus haf to say
        Somepin' 'bout "his mother's way." -
    He lived hard-like - never jined
    Any church of any kind. -
    "It was Mother's way," says he,
    "To be good enough fer me
    And her too, - and certinly
        Lord has heerd her pray!"
    Propped up on his dyin' bed, -
    "Shore as Heaven's overhead,
    I'm a-goin' there," he said
        "It was Mother's way."

James Whitcomb Riley

When Bessie Died

If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped,
And ne'er would nestle in your palm again;
If the white feet into the grave had tripped"

When Bessie died -
We braided the brown hair, and tied
It just as her own little hands
Had fastened back the silken strands
A thousand times - the crimson bit
Of ribbon woven into it
That she had worn with childish pride -
Smoothed down the dainty bow - and cried
When Bessie died.

When Bessie died -
We drew the nursery blinds aside,
And as the morning in the room
Burst like a primrose into bloom,
Her pet canary's cage we hung
Where she might hear him when he sung -
And yet not any note he tried,
Though she lay listening folded-eyed.

When Bessie died -
We writhed in prayer unsatisfied...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Rain.

I.

The rain! the rain! the rain!
    It gushed from the skies and streamed
Like awful tears; and the sick man thought
    How pitiful it seemed!
And he turned his face away,
    And stared at the wall again,
His hopes nigh dead and his heart worn out.
    O the rain! the rain! the rain!



II.

The rain! the rain! the rain!
    And the broad stream brimmed the shores;
And ever the river crept over the reeds
    And the roots of the sycamores:
A corpse swirled by in a drift
    Where the boat had snapt its chain -
And a hoarse-voiced mother shrieked and raved.
    O the rain! the rain! the rain!



III.

The rain! the rain! the rain! -
    Pouring, with never a pause,
Over the fields and the...

James Whitcomb Riley