James Whitcomb Riley

“ And shine and shine! Ah! To-day the splendor—! All this glory yours and mine— God! But God is tender! We to sigh instead of sing, Yesterday, in sorrow, While the Lord was fashioning This for our To-morrow!
The Blossoms on the Trees Blossoms crimson, white, or blue, Purple, pink, and every hue, From sunny skies, to tintings drowned In dusky drops of dew, I praise you all, wherever found, And love you through and through—; But, Blossoms On The Trees, With your breath upon the breeze There's nothing all the world around As half as sweet as you! ”

“ There is such a relief, from the clangor and din Of the heart of the town, to go loitering in Through the dim, narrow walks, with the sheltering shade Of the trees waving over the long promenade, And littering lightly the ways of our feet With the gold of the sunshine of Lockerbie street. And the nights that come down the dark pathways of dusk, With the stars in their tresses, and odors of musk In their moon-woven raiments, bespangled with dews, And looped up with lilies for lovers to use In the songs that they sing to the tinkle and beat Of their sweet serenadings through Lockerbie street. ”

“ And we hear, as the song flows on serene, The neigh of horses, and then the beat Of hooves that skurry o'er pastures green, And the patter and pad of a boy's bare feet. A brave lad, wearing a manly brow, Knit as with problems of grave dispute, And a face, like the bloom of the orchard bough, Pink and pallid, but resolute; And flushed it grows as the clover-bloom, And fresh it gleams as the morning dew, As he reins his steed where the quick quails boom Up from the grasses he races through. And ho! As he rides what dreams are his? ”

“ I saw him, in my vision, filled With rapture o'er a spray of bloom The wind threw in his lonely room; And of the sweet perfume it spilled He drank to drunkenness, and flung His long hair back, and laughed and sung And clapped his hands as children do At fairy tales they listen to, While from his flying quill there dripped Such music on his manuscript That he who listens to the words May close his eyes and dream the birds Are twittering on every hand A language he can understand. He journeyed on through life unknown, Without one friend to call his own; He tired. ”

“ One, in time, will joy to take New resolves for some one's sake, And wear then the look that lies Clear and pure in other eyes— We will soothe and reconcile His own conscience— afterwhile. Afterwhile— we have in view A far scene to journey to—, Where the old home is, and where The old mother waits us there, Peering, as the time grows late, Down the old path to the gate—. How we'll click the latch that locks In the pinks and hollyhocks, And leap up the path once more Where she waits us at the door—! How we'll greet the dear old smile, And the warm tears— afterwhile! ”

“ And pray Thou, may The door stand open and the day Send ever in a gentle breeze, With fragrance from the locust-trees, And drowsy moan of doves, and blur Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees, With after-hushes of the stir Of intermingling sounds, and then The good-wife and the smile of her Filling the silences again— The cricket's call And the wee cot, Dear Lord of all, Deny me not! I pray not that Men tremble at My power of place And lordly sway—, I only pray for simple grace To look my neighbor in the face Full honestly from day to day— Yield me his horny palm to hold. ”

“ We look across the gold Of the harvests, as of old— The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay; But most we turn our gaze, As with eyes of other days, To the orchard where the children used to play. O from our life's full measure And rich hoard of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play. Our sloping pasture-lands are filled with herds ”

“ And I thrilled with awe and wonder, as a murmur on the air Came drifting o'er the hearing in a melody of prayer—: By the splendor in the heavens, and the hush upon the sea, And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee, We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee. Thy messenger has spoken, and our doubts have fled and gone As the dark and spectral shadows of the night before the dawn; And in kindly shelter of the light around us drawn, We would nestle down forever in the breast we lean upon. ”

“ I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom I nestle like a drowsy child and doze The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws The shifting shuttle of the Summer's loom And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom Before thy listless feet. The lily blows A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade; And wheeling into ranks, with plume and spear, Thy harvest-armies gather on parade; While faint and far away, yet pure and clear, A voice calls out of alien lands of shade—: All hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year! ”

“ Who Bides His Time Who bides his time, and day by day Faces defeat full patiently, And lifts a mirthful roundelay, However poor his fortunes be—, He will not fail in any qualm Of poverty— the paltry dime It will grow golden in his palm, Who bides his time. Who bides his time— he tastes the sweet Of honey in the saltest tear; And though he fares with slowest feet, Joy runs to meet him, drawing near; The birds are heralds of his cause; And like a never-ending rhyme, The roadsides bloom in his applause, Who bides his time. ”

“ 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! ”

“ Let them reeling reach to win me— even Heaven I would miss, Grasping earthward—! I would cling here, though I clung by just a kiss. And blossoms should grow odorless— and lilies all aghast— And I said the stars should slacken in their paces through the vast, Ere yet my loyalty should fail enduring to the last—. So vowed I. It is written. It is changeless as the past. IIlileo Legardi, in the shade your palace throws Like a cowl about the singer at your gilded porticos, A moan goes with the music that may vex the high repose Of a heart that fades and crumbles as the crimson of a rose. ”

“ As first we scampered to thee— now, as then, Take us as children to thy heart again. Be wholly good to us, just as of old: As a pleased father, let thine arms infold Us, homed within the haven of thy love, And all the cheer and wholesomeness thereof. Thou lone reality, when O so long Life's unrealities have wrought us wrong: Ambition hath allured us—, fame likewise, And all that promised honor in men's eyes. ”

“ You are fair to be seen— Be it noon of the day, or the rare and serene Afternoon of the night— you are one to my heart, And I love you above all the phrases of art, For no language could frame and no lips could repeat My rhyme-haunted raptures of Lockerbie street. ”

“ What, but an odorous memory Of the dear old man, made known to me In days demanding a help like his—, As sweet as the life of the lily is— As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise Born of a lily in paradise.
The Beautiful City The Beautiful City! Forever Its rapturous praises resound; We fain would behold it— but never A glimpse of its dory is found: We slacken our lips at the tender White breasts of our mothers to hear Of its marvellous beauty and splendor—; We see— but the gleam of a tear! ”

“ The ripest peach is highest on the tree!
A Fruit Piece The afternoon of summer folds Its warm arms round the marigolds, And with its gleaming fingers, pets The watered pinks and violets That from the casement vases spill, Over the cottage window-sill, Their fragrance down the garden walks Where droop the dry-mouthed hollyhocks. How vividly the sunshine scrawls The grape-vine shadows on the walls! How like a truant swings the breeze In high boughs of the apple-trees! ”

“ And their faces were like lilies, and their eyes like purest dew, And their tresses like the shadows that the shine is woven through; And they each had little burdens, and a little tale to tell Of fairy lore, and giants, and delights delectable. And they mixed and intermingled, weaving melody with joy, Till the magic circle clustered round a blooming baby-boy; And they threw aside their treasures in an ecstasy of glee, And bent, with dazzled faces and with parted lips, to see. ”

“ Words will not say what I yearn to say— They will not walk as I want them to, But they stumble and fall in the path of the way Of my telling my love for you. Simply take what the scrawl is worth— Knowing I love you as sun the sod On the ripening side of the great round earth That swings in the smile of God. ”

“ To fill your pockets, but leave the dearth Of all the happier things on earth To the hunger of heart and brain? Under the dusk of your villa trees, Edging the drives where your blooded span Paw the pebbles and wait your ease—, Where are the children about your knees, And the mirth, and the happy man? The blinds of your mansion are battened to; Your faded wife is a close recluse; And your "finished" daughters will doubtless do Dutifully all that is willed of you, And marry as you shall choose—! ”

“ A mighty general— a nation's pride— Thou givest again a rocking-horse to ride, And wildly glad he groweth as the grim Old jurist with the drum thou givest him: The sculptor's chisel, at thy mirth's command, Is as a whistle in his boyish hand; The painters model fadeth utterly, And there thou standest—, and he painteth thee—: Most like a winter pippin, sound and fine And tingling-red that ripe old face of thine, Set in thy frosty beard of cheek and chin As midst the snows the thaws of spring set in. ”

“ A tension circles both her slender Wrists— and her raised eyes flash in splendor, Even as he feels his dazzled own—. Then blindingly, round either thrown, They feel a stress of arms that ever Strain tremblingly— and "Never! Never!" Is whispered brokenly, with half A sob, like a belated laugh—, While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes—, Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's. ”

“ We wait indeed For daylight, we who toss about through stress Of vacant-armed desires and emptiness Of all the warm, warm touches that we need, And the warm kisses upon which we feed Our famished lips in fancy! May God bless The starved lips of us with but one caress Warm as the yearning blood our poor hearts bleed...! A wild prayer—! Bite thy pillow, praying so— Toss this side, and whirl that, and moan for dawn ”

“ And I said: 'Tis a sketch of Nature's own, Drawn i' the dark o' the moon, I swear, On a tatter of Fate that the winds have blown Hither and thither and everywhere— With its keen little sinister eyes of gray, And nose like the beak of a bird of prey!
Our Kind of a Man 1 The kind of a man for you and me! He faces the world unflinchingly, And smites, as long as the wrong resists, With a knuckled faith and force like fists: He lives the life he is preaching of, And loves where most is the need of love ”

“ The tanned face, garlanded with mirth, It hath the kingliest smile on earth; The swart brow, diamonded with sweat, Hath never need of coronet. And so I reach, Dear Lord, to Thee, And do beseech Thou givest me The wee cot, and the cricket's chirr, Love and the glad sweet face of her! ”

“ Lockerbie Street Such a dear little street it is, nestled away From the noise of the city and heat of the day, In cool shady coverts of whispering trees, With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie street! ”

“ Sleep Thou drowsy god, whose blurred eyes, half awink Muse on me—, drifting out upon thy dreams, I lave my soul as in enchanted streams Where revelling satyrs pipe along the brink, And tipsy with the melody they drink, Uplift their dangling hooves, and down the beams Of sunshine dance like motes. ”

“ The Wandering Jew The stars are falling, and the sky Is like a field of faded flowers; The winds on weary wings go by; The moon hides, and the tempest lowers; And still through every clime and age I wander on a pilgrimage That all men know an idle quest, For that the goal I seek is— Rest! ”

“ Laden with odors of Orient isles Where ever and ever the sunshine smiles, And the bright sands blend with the shady trees, And the lotus blooms in the midst of these. 2 Warm winds won from the midland vales To where the tress of the Siren trails O'er the flossy tip of the mountain phlox And the bare limbs twined in the crested rocks, High above as the seagulls flap Their lopping wings at the thunder-clap. ”

“ The Serenade The midnight is not more bewildering To her drowsed eyes, than to her ears, the sound Of dim, sweet singing voices, interwound With purl of flute and subtle twang of string, Strained through the lattice, where the roses cling And, with their fragrance, waft the notes around Her haunted senses. ”

“ A Discouraging Model Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, And a knot of red roses sown in under there Where the shadows are lost in her hair. ”