When The Green Gits Back In The Trees

In Spring, when the green gits back in the trees,
    And the sun comes out and STAYS,
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,
And you think of yer bare-foot days;
When you ORT to work and you want to NOT,
And you and yer wife agrees
It's time to spade up the garden-lot,
When the green gits back in the trees
    Well! work is the least o' MY idees
    When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!

When the green gits back in the trees, and bees
Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please
Old gait they bum roun' in;
When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood,
And the crick's riz, and the breeze
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood,
And the green gits back in the trees, -
    I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these,
    The time when the green gits back in the trees!

When the whole tail-feathers o' Wintertime
Is all pulled out and gone!
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb,
And the swet it starts out on
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down
At the old spring on his knees -
I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun'
When the green gits back in the trees -
    Jest a-potterin' roun' as I - durn - please-
    When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!

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

Jack-In-The-Box

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Raggedy Man

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

To My Good Master.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Bumblebee

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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Romancin'

I' b'en a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, and I'm
About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know
When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto' solum-like and low!

You git my idy, do you? - LITTLE tads, you understand -
Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a MAN. -
Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,
And fergittin' all that's in it, wishm' jest the other way!

I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate
Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate, -
But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,
And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do! -

I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,
Whare the haze...

James Whitcomb Riley

Knee Deep in June

1
Tell you what I like the best -
'Long about knee-deep in June,
'Bout the time strawberries melts
On the vine, some afternoon
Like to jes' git out and rest,
And not work at nothin' else!

2
Orchard's where I'd ruther be -
Needn't fence it in fer me!
Jes' the whole sky overhead,
And the whole airth underneath -
Sorto' so's a man kin breathe
Like he ort, and kindo' has
Elbow-room to keerlessly
Sprawl out len'thways on the grass
Where the shadders thick and soft
As the kivvers on the bed
Mother fixes in the loft
Allus, when they's company!

3
Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there -
S'lazy, 'at you peeks and peer
Through the wavin' leaves above,
Like a feller 'ats in love
And don't know it, ner don't keer!
Ever'thi...

James Whitcomb Riley

When Early March Seems Middle May

When country roads begin to thaw
    In mottled spots of damp and dust,
And fences by the margin draw
    Along the frosty crust
Their graphic silhouettes, I say,
The Spring is coming round this way.

When morning-time is bright with sun
And keen with wind, and both confuse
The dancing, glancing eyes of one
    With tears that ooze and ooze -
And nose-tips weep as well as they,
The Spring is coming round this way.

When suddenly some shadow-bird
Goes wavering beneath the gaze,
And through the hedge the moan is heard
    Of kine that fain would graze
In grasses new, I smile and say,
The Spring is coming round this way.

When knotted horse-tails are untied,
And teamsters whistle here and there.
And clumsy mitts are laid aside

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

Down Around The River

Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river!
Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann - but lawzy! I fergive her!
Drives me off the place, an' says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin',
Land o' gracious! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin'!
Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice;
Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is, -
Specalatin', more'n like, he haint a-goin' to mind me,
An' guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me!

Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river!
Clean out o' sight o' home, an' skulkin' under kivver
Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, an' swamp-ash an' ellum -
Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em! -
Tired, you know, but lovin' it, an' smilin' jes' to think 'at
Any sweeter tir...

James Whitcomb Riley

To The Good Old-Fashioned People

The deadnin' and the thicket's jes' a b'ilin' full o' June,
From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yaller-hammer's tune;
And the catbird in the bottom and the sap-suck on the snag,
Seems's ef they cain't - od-rot-'em! - jes' do nothin' else but brag!

There' music in the twitter o' the bluebird and the jay,
And that sassy little critter jes' a-peckin' all the day;
There' music in the "flicker," and there' music in the thrush,
And there' music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush! -

There' music all around me! - And I go back - in a dream
Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep: - And, in the stream
That used to split the medder wher' the dandylions growed,
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.

James Whitcomb Riley