James Whitcomb Riley

“ But the old Snow-Man— What a dubious delight He grew at last when Spring came on And days waxed warm and bright.— Alone he stood—all kith and kin Of snow and ice were gone;— Alone, with constant teardrops in His eyes and glittering on His thin, pathetic beard of black— Grief in a hopeless cause!— Hope—hope is for the man that dies— What for the man that thaws! O Hero of a hero's make!— Let marble melt and fade, But never you—you old Snow-Man That Noey Bixler made! ”

“ Nay, little Child-heart, you have never need To fear us,—we are weaker far than you— Tis we who should be fearful—we indeed Should hide us, too, as darkly as you do,— Safe, as yourself, withdrawn, Hearing the World roar on Too willful, woful, awful for the Child-heart! ”

“ The smiling father said, while Uncle Mart, Behind him, winked at Bud, and pulled apart His nose and chin with comical grimace— Then sighed aloud, with sanctimonious face,— "'How good and comely it is to see Children and parents in friendship agree!'— You fire away, Bud, on your Fairy-tale— Your Uncle's here to back you!" Somewhat pale, And breathless as to speech, the little man Gathered himself. And thus his story ran. ”

“ Next after Johnty came His little tow-head brother, Bud by name.— And O how white his hair was—and how thick His face with freckles,—and his ears, how quick And curious and intrusive!—And how pale The blue of his big eyes;—and how a tale Of Giants, Trolls or Fairies, bulged them still Bigger and bigger!—and when "Jack" would kill The old "Four-headed Giant," Bud's big eyes Were swollen truly into giant-size. ”

“ A CHILD-WORLD The Child-World—long and long since lost to view— A Fairy Paradise!— How always fair it was and fresh and new— How every affluent hour heaped heart and eyes With treasures of surprise! Enchantments tangible: The under-brink Of dawns that launched the sight Up seas of gold: The dewdrop on the pink, With all the green earth in it and blue height Of heavens infinite: The liquid, dripping songs of orchard-birds— The wee bass of the bees,— With lucent deeps of silence afterwards ”

“ It was a kind of a conceited pain— An overbearing, self-assertive and Barbaric sort of pain that clean outhurt A boy's capacity for suffering— So, many times, the little martyr needs Must turn himself all suddenly and dive From sight of his hilarious playmates and Surreptitiously weep under water. ”

“ In the warm, health-giving weather My poor pale wife and I Drive up and down the little town And the pleasant roads thereby: Out in the wholesome country We wind, from the main highway, In through the wood's green solitudes— Fair as the Lord's own Day. ”

“ He said to little Alex, in a tone So winning that the sound of it alone Had drawn a child more lothful to his knee:— "And, now-sir, I'll agree if you'll agree,— You tell us all a story, and then I Will tell one." "But I can't." "Well, can't you try?" "Yes, Mister: he kin tell one. Alex, tell The one, you know, 'at you made up so well, About the Bear. He allus tells that one," Said Bud,—"He gits it mixed some 'bout the gun An' ax the Little Boy had, an' apples, too."— Then Uncle Mart said—"There, now! that'll do!— Let Alex tell his story his own way!" ”

“ COUSIN RUFUS' STORY My little story, Cousin Rufus said, Is not so much a story as a fact. It is about a certain willful boy— An aggrieved, unappreciated boy, Grown to dislike his own home very much, By reason of his parents being not At all up to his rigid standard and Requirements and exactions as a son And disciplinarian. ”

“ Excepting few, they were not books indeed Of deep import that Almon chose to read;— Less fact than fiction.—Much he favored those— If not in poetry, in hectic prose— That made our native Indian a wild, Feathered and fine-preened hero that a child Could recommend as just about the thing To make a god of, or at least a king. ”

“ Sounds drop in visiting from everywhere— The bluebird's and the robin's trill are there, Their sweet liquidity diluted some By dewy orchard spaces they have come: Sounds of the town, too, and the great highway— The Mover-wagons' rumble, and the neigh Of overtraveled horses, and the bleat Of sheep and low of cattle through the street— A Nation's thoroughfare of hopes and fears, First blazed by the heroic pioneers Who gave up old-home idols and set face Toward the unbroken West, to found a race And tame a wilderness now mightier than All peoples and all tracts American. ”

“ But the pride and glory that was theirs When they first hitched up their shackly cart For the long, long journey South.—The start In the first drear light of the chilly dawn, With no friends gathered in grieving throng,— With no farewells and favoring prayers; But, as they creaked and jolted on, Their chiming voices broke in song— "'Hail, all hail! don't you see the stars a-fallin'? ”

“ And, with the parents, sure and slow, He went "saltin' de cole cash down." So with the next boy—and each one In turn, till four of the five at last Had been bought back; and, in each case, With steady work and good homes not Far from the parents, they chipped in To the family fund, with an equal grace. Thus they managed and planned and wrought, And the old folks throve—Till the night before They were to start for the lone last son In the rainy dawn—their money fast Hid away in the house,—two mean, Murderous robbers burst the door. ”

“ An' nen the Little Boy dumb down the tree An' chopped his old wooly head off:—Yes, an' killed The other Bear agin, he did—an' killed All boff the bears, he did—an' tuk 'em home An' cooked 'em, too, an' et 'em! —An' that's
THE PATHOS OF APPLAUSE The greeting of the company throughout Was like a jubilee,—the children's shout And fusillading hand-claps, with great guns And detonations of the older ones, Raged to such tumult of tempestuous joy, It even more alarmed than pleased the boy ”

“ An' nen when the old Wolf Dit to her Dran'ma's house, he's purty smart,— An' so he 'tend-like he's Red Riding Hood, An' knock at th' door. An' Riding Hood's Dran'ma She's sick in bed an' can't come to the door An' open it. So th' old Wolf knock two times. An' nen Red Riding Hood's Dran'ma she says "Who's there?" she says. An' old Wolf 'tends-like he's Little Red Riding Hood, you know, an' make' His voice soun' ist like hers, an' says: "It's me, Dran'ma—an' I'm Red Riding Hood an' I'm Ist come to see you." ”

“ Floretty sighed, and with the turkey-wing Brushed off the stove-hearth softly, and peered in The kettle of molasses, with her thin Voice wandering into song unconsciously— In purest, if most witless, sympathy.— "'Then sleep no more: Around thy heart Some ten-der dream may i-dlee play. ”

“ BUD'S FAIRY-TALE Some peoples thinks they ain't no Fairies now No more yet!—But they is, I bet! 'Cause ef They wuzn't Fairies, nen I' like to know Who'd w'ite 'bout Fairies in the books, an' tell What Fairies does, an' how their picture looks, An' all an' ever'thing! W'y, ef they don't Be Fairies anymore, nen little boys 'U'd ist sleep when they go to sleep an' wont Have ist no dweams at all,—'Cause Fairies—good Fairies—they're a-purpose to make dweams! ”

“ UNCLE MART'S POEM THE OLD SNOW-MAN Ho! the old Snow-Man That Noey Bixler made! He looked as fierce and sassy As a soldier on parade!— 'Cause Noey, when he made him, While we all wuz gone, you see, He made him, jist a-purpose, Jist as fierce as he could be!— But when we all got ust to him, Nobody wuz afraid Of the old Snow-Man That Noey Bixler made! 'Cause Noey told us 'bout him And what he made him fer:— He'd come to feed, that morning He found we wuzn't here; And so the notion struck him, When we all come taggin' home 'Tud s'prise us ef a' old Snow-Man 'Ud meet us when we come! ”

“ An' nen He look around—An' here come th' old Bear! An' so the Little Boy make up his mind He's got to ist git out o' there some way!— 'Cause here come the old Bear!—so clos't, his bref's Purt 'nigh so's he kin feel how hot it is Aginst his bare feet—ist like old "Ring's" bref When he's ben out a-huntin' an's all tired. ”

“ An' butterflies, they wuz—an' hummin'-birds— An' yellowbirds an' bluebirds—yes, an' red!— An' ever'wheres an' all awound 'uz vines Wiv ripe p'serve-pears on 'em!—Yes, an' all An' ever'thing 'at's ever gwowin' in A garden—er canned up—all ripe at wunst!— It wuz ist like a garden—only it 'Uz little tit o' garden—'bout big wound As ist our twun'el-bed is.—An' all wound An' wound the little garden's a gold fence— An' little gold gate, too—an' ash-hopper 'At's all gold, too—an' ist full o' gold ashes! ”

“ An' wite in th' middle o' the garden wuz A little gold house, 'at's ist 'bout as big As ist a bird-cage is: An' in the house They 'uz whole-lots more Fairies there—'cause I Picked up the little house, an 'peeked in at The winders, an' I see 'em all in there Ist buggin' wound! An' Mr. Squidjicum He twy to make me quit, but I gwab him, An' poke him down the chimbly, too, I did!— An' y'ort to see him hop out 'mongst 'em there! Ist like he 'uz the boss an' ist got back!— "Hain't ye got on them-air dew-dumplin's yet?" He says. An' they says no. An' nen he says "Better git at 'em nen!" ”

“ An'he Ist cwoss his heart; an' nen I weach an' set The little feller up on a long vine— An' he 'uz so tickled to git loose agin, He gwab' the vine wiv boff his little hands An' ist take an' turn in, he did, an' skin 'Bout forty-'leven cats! Nen when he git Through whirlin' wound the vine, an' set on top Of it agin, w'y nen his "woseleaf-coat" He bwag so much about, it's ist all tored Up, an' ist hangin' strips an' rags—so he Look like his Pa's a dwunkard. An' so nen When he see what he's done—a-actin' up So smart,—he's awful mad, I guess ”

“ Nen when 'tuz morning th' old Bear went "Wooh!" Agin, an' try to climb up in the tree An' git the Little Boy.—But he can't Climb t'save his soul, he can't!—An' oh! he's mad!— He ist tear up the ground! ”

“ An' nen he say,— "No use to tell you 'bout it, 'cause you won't Believe it, 'less you go there your own se'f An' see it wiv your own two eyes!" he says. An' he says: "Ef you lemme shore-nuff loose, An' p'omise 'at you'll keep wite still, an' won't Tetch nothin' 'at you see—an' never tell Nobody in the world—an' lemme loose— W'y, nen I'll take you there!" But I says, "Yes An' ef I let you loose, you'll run!" I says. An' he says "No, I won't!—I hope may die!" Nen I says, "Cwoss your heart you won't!" ”

“ W'y, that little dog's got grown-people's sense!— See how he gits out under the fence?— And watch him a-whettin' his hind-legs 'fore His dead square run of a miled er more— 'Cause Noey's a-comin', and Trip allus knows When Noey's a-comin'—and off he goes!— Putts out to meet him and—There they come now! ”

“ I ist weached out An' ketched him, in my hand—an' helt him, too, An' squeezed him, ist like little wobins when They can't fly yet an' git flopped out their nest. An' nen I turn him all wound over, an' Look at him clos't, you know—wite clos't,—'cause ef He is a Fairy, w'y, I want to see The wings he's got—But he's dwessed up so fine 'At I can't see no wings.—An' all the time He's twyin' to kick me yet: An' so I take F'esh holts an' squeeze agin—an' harder, too ”

“ MAYMIE'S STORY OF RED RIDING HOOD W'y, one time wuz a little-weenty dirl, An' she wuz named Red Riding Hood, 'cause her— Her Ma she maked a little red cloak fer her 'At turnt up over her head—An' it 'uz all Ist one piece o' red cardinal 'at 's like The drate-long stockin's the store-keepers has.— O! it 'uz purtiest cloak in all the world An' all this town er anywheres they is! ”

“ THE BEAR-STORY THAT ALEX "IST MAKED UP HIS-OWN-SE'F" W'y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out 'Way in the grea'-big woods—he did.—An' he Wuz goin'along—an'goin'along, you know, An' purty soon he heerd somepin' go "Wooh!"— Ist thataway—"Woo-ooh!" ”