To Almon Keefer

INSCRIBED IN "TALES OF THE OCEAN"

This first book that I ever knew
Was read aloud to me by you -
Friend of my boyhood, therefore take
It back from me, for old times' sake -
The selfsame "Tales" first read to me,
Under "the old sweet apple tree,"
Ere I myself could read such great
Big words, - but listening all elate,
At your interpreting, until
Brain, heart and soul were all athrill
With wonder, awe, and sheer excess
Of wildest childish happiness.

So take the book again - forget
All else, - long years, lost hopes, regret;
Sighs for the joys we ne'er attain,
Prayers we have lifted all in vain;
Tears for the faces seen no more,
Once as the roses at the door!
Take the enchanted book - And lo,
On grassy swards of long ago,
Sprawl out again, beneath the shade
The breezy old-home orchard made,
The veriest barefoot boy indeed -
And I will listen as you read.

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 Home-Going.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Says He

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Way It Wuz.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Almon Keefer

Ah, Almon Keefer! what a boy you were,
With your back-tilted hat and careless hair,
And open, honest, fresh, fair face and eyes
With their all-varying looks of pleased surprise
And joyous interest in flower and tree,
And poising humming-bird, and maundering bee.

The fields and woods he knew; the tireless tramp
With gun and dog; and the night-fisher's camp -
No other boy, save Bee Lineback, had won
Such brilliant mastery of rod and gun.
Even in his earliest childhood had he shown
These traits that marked him as his father's own.
Dogs all paid Almon honor and bow-wowed
Allegiance, let him come in any crowd
Of rabbit-hunting town-boys, even though
His own dog "Sleuth" rebuked their acting so
With jealous snarls and growlings.

    But the best

James Whitcomb Riley

The Old-Fashioned Bible

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood
    That now but in mem'ry I sadly review;
The old meeting-house at the edge of the wildwood,
    The rail fence, and horses all tethered thereto;
The low, sloping roof, and the bell in the steeple,
    The doves that came fluttering out overhead
As it solemnly gathered the God-fearing people
    To hear the old Bible my grandfather read.
    The old-fashioned Bible -
        The dust-covered Bible -
    The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.

The blessed old volume! The face bent above it -
    As now I recall it - is gravely severe,
Though the reverent eye that droops downward to love it
    Makes grander the text through the lens of a tear,
And, as down his features it trickles and glistens,
  ...

James Whitcomb Riley

His Room

"I'm home again, my dear old Room,
I'm home again, and happy, too,
As, peering through the brightening gloom,
I find myself alone with you:
    Though brief my stay, nor far away,
    I missed you - missed you night and day -
    As wildly yearned for you as now. -
    Old Room, how are you, anyhow?

"My easy chair, with open arms,
Awaits me just within the door;
The littered carpet's woven charms
Have never seemed so bright before, -
    The old rosettes and mignonettes
    And ivy-leaves and violets,
    Look up as pure and fresh of hue
    As though baptized in morning dew.

"Old Room, to me your homely walls
Fold round me like the arms of love,
And over all my being falls
A blessing pure as from above -
    Even as a nestling ...

James Whitcomb Riley

John Mckeen.

John McKeen, in his rusty dress,
    His loosened collar, and swarthy throat;
His face unshaven, and none the less,
His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness,
    And the wealth of a workman's vote!

Bring him, O Memory, here once more,
    And tilt him back in his Windsor chair
By the kitchen-stove, when the day is o'er
And the light of the hearth is across the floor,
    And the crickets everywhere!

And let their voices be gladly blent
    With a watery jingle of pans and spoons,
And a motherly chirrup of sweet content,
And neighborly gossip and merriment,
    And old-time fiddle-tunes!

Tick the clock with a wooden sound,
    And fill the hearing with childish glee
Of rhyming riddle, or story found
In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-boun...

James Whitcomb Riley

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
With my little bare feet from my own mother's ...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Book Of Joyous Children

Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
    Edged with trellised buds and flowers
And glad Summer-gold, with clean
    White and purple morning-glories
    Such as suit the songs and stories
    Of this book of ours,
Unrevised in text or scene, -
        The Book of Joyous Children.

Wild and breathless in their glee -
    Lawless rangers of all ways
Winding through lush greenery
    Of Elysian vales - the viny,
    Bowery groves of shady, shiny
    Haunts of childish days.
Spread and read again with me
        The Book of Joyous Children.

What a whir of wings, and what
    Sudden drench of dews upon
The young brows, wreathed, all unsought,
    With the apple-blossom garlands
    Of the poets of those far lands
    Whence all drea...

James Whitcomb Riley