James Whitcomb Riley

“ III The joy one feels, In an easy chair, Cocking his heels In the dancing air That wreathes the rim of a roaring stove Whose heat loves better than hearts can love, Will not permit The coldest day To drive away The fire in his blood, and the bliss of it! ”

“ And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes, and neighed, As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer's time Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sublime! How the grand band-wagon shone with a splendor all its own, And glittered with a glory that our dreams had never known! And how the boys behind, high and low of every kind, Marched in unconscious capture, with a rapture undefined! ”

“ There is no board-fence, And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!— 'Tis only a vision the mind invents After a supper of cold mince-pies,— And you're doomed to dream this way," they said,— "And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!" ”

“ The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic ring— The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,— When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh, In the golden olden glory of the days gone by. ”

“ And the golden-banded bees, Droning o'er the flowery leas, They bridled, reined, and rode away Across the fragrant breeze, Till in hollow oak and elm They had groomed and stabled them In waxen stalls that oozed with dews Of rose and lily-stem. Where the dusty highway leads, High above the wayside weeds, They sowed the air with butterflies Like blooming flower-seeds, Till the dull grasshopper sprung Half a man's-height up, and hung Tranced in the heat, with whirring wings, And sung and sung and sung! ”

“ And the humming-bird, that hung Like a jewel up among The tilted honeysuckle horns, They mesmerized and swung In the palpitating air, Drowsed with odors strange and rare, And, with whispered laughter, slipped away, And left him hanging there. ”

“ An' the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! An' little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue, An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,— You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear, An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, Er the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! ”

“ An' all us other childern, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you Ef you Don't Watch Out! ”

“ When little Dickie Swope's a man, He's go' to be a Sailor; An' little Hamey Tincher, he's A-go' to be a Tailor: Bud Mitchell, he's a-go' to be A stylish Carriage-Maker; An' when I grow a grea'-big man, I'm go' to be a Baker! An' Dick'll buy his sailor-suit O' Hame; and Hame'll take it An' buy as fine a double-rigg As ever Bud can make it: An' nen all three'll drive roun' fer me An' we'll drive off togevver, A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the road Ferever an' ferever! ”

“ But the Little Boy he 'uz too smart To climb clean down the tree.—An' the old Bear He can't climb up the tree no more—'cause when He fell, he broke one of his—he broke all His legs!—an' nen he couldn't climb! But he Ist won't go'way an' let the Little Boy Come down out of the tree. An' the old Bear Ist growls 'round there, he does—ist growls an' goes "Wooh!—woo-ooh!" all the time! An' Little Boy He haf to stay up in the tree—all night— An' 'thout no supper neether!—On'y they Wuz apples on the tree!—An' Little Boy Et apples—ist all night—an' cried—an' cried! ”

“ But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see, I'm 'most afeard she'll be took down—an' 'at's what bothers me!— 'Cause ef my good old Aunty ever would git sick an' die, I don't know what she'd do in heaven—till I come, by an' by:— Fer she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know, An' no one there like me, to nuss an' worry over so!— 'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' fine, They's nary angel 'bout the place with "Curv'ture of the Spine!" ”

“ The rhyme o' The Raggedy Man's 'at's best Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs,— 'Cause that-un's the strangest of all o' the rest, An' the worst to learn, an' the last one guessed, An' the funniest one, an' the foolishest.— Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! I don't know what in the world it means— Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!— An' nen when I tell him I don't, he leans Like he was a-grindin' on some machines An' says: Ef I don't, w'y, I don't know beans! ”

“ W'y, The Raggedy Man—he's ist so good He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood; An' nen he spades in our garden, too, An' does most things 'at boys can't do!— He clumbed clean up in our big tree An' shooked a' apple down fer me— An' nother'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann— An' nother'n', too, fer The Raggedy Man.— Aint he a' awful kind Raggedy Man? ”

“ One time, when we'z at Aunty's house— 'Way in the country!—where They's ist but woods—an' pigs, an' cows— An' all's out-doors an' air!— An' orchurd-swing; an' churry-trees— An' churries in 'em!—Yes, an' these— Here red-head birds steals all they please, An' tetch 'em ef you dare!— W'y, wunst, one time, when we wuz there, We et out on the porch! [Unavailable image: We et out on the porch] Wite where the cellar-door wuz shut The table wuz; an' I Let Aunty set by me an' cut My vittuls up—an' pie. 'Tuz awful funny!—I could see The red-heads in the churry-tree ”

“ Sometimes he drives two horses, when He comes to town an' brings A wagon-full o' 'taters nen, An' roastin'-ears an' things. Two horses is "a team," he says, An' when you drive er hitch, The right-un's a "near-horse," I guess Er "off"—I don't know which— The Boy lives on our Farm, he told Me, too, 'at he can see, By lookin' at their teeth, how old A horse is, to a T! I'd be the gladdest boy alive Ef I knowed much as that, An' could stand up like him an' drive, An' ist push back my hat, Like he comes skallyhootin' through Our alley, with one arm A-wavin' Fare-ye-well! ”

“ I'm thist a little cripple boy, an' never goin' to grow An' get a great big man at all!—'cause Aunty told me so. When I was thist a baby onc't, I falled out of the bed An' got "The Curv'ture of the Spine"—'at's what the Doctor said. I never had no Mother nen—fer my Pa runned away An' dassn't come back here no more—'cause he was drunk one day An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine! An' nen my Ma she died—an' I got "Curv'ture of the Spine!" ”

“ And the South Wind—he was dressed With a ribbon round his breast That floated, flapped and fluttered In a riotous unrest; And a drapery of mist, From the shoulder and the wrist Flowing backward with the motion Of the waving hand he kissed. ”

“ The Old Hay-mow's the place to play Fer boys, when it's a rainy day! I good-'eal ruther be up there Than down in town, er anywhere! When I play in our stable-loft, The good old hay's so dry an' soft, An' feels so fine, an' smells so sweet, I 'most ferget to go an' eat. [Unavailable image: In our hay-mow where I keep store] An' one time wunst I did ferget To go 'tel dinner was all et,— An' they had short-cake—an'—Bud he Hogged up the piece Ma saved fer me! Nen I won't let him play no more In our hay-mow where I keep store An' got hen-eggs to sell,—an' shoo The cackle-un old hen out, too! ”

“ An' she can cook best things to eat! She ist puts dough in our pie-pan, An' pours in somepin' 'at's good and sweet, An' nen she salts it all on top With cinnamon; an' nen she'll stop An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow, In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twon't slop An' git all spilled; nen bakes it, so It's custard pie, first thing you know! An' nen she'll say: "Clear out o' my way! They's time fer work, an' time fer play!— Take yer dough, an' run, Child; run! Er I cain't git no cookin' done!" ”

“ The Raggedy Man—one time when he Wuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me, Says "When you're big like your Pa is, Air you go' to keep a fine store like his— An' be a rich merchunt—an' wear fine clothes?— Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows!" An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, An' I says "'M go' to be a Raggedy Man!— I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man!" ”

“ An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say: "Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all today?" An', nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks through, An' they all says: "Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' you!" An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine— They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got "Curv'ture of the Spine!" ”

“ Barefooted, hungry, lean, ornry boys] Now my daughter's little Jane's Got a kind o' baby-swing On the porch, so's when it rains She kin play there—little thing! And I'd limped out t'other day With my old cheer this-a-way, Swingin' her and rockin' too, Thinkin' how I ust to do At her age, when suddently, "Hey, Gran'pap!" she says to me, "Why you rock so slow?" ... Says I, "Waitin' fer the cat to die!" [Unavailable image: Why you rock so slow?] ”

“ THE BUMBLEBEE You better not fool with a Bumblebee!— Ef you don't think they can sting—you'll see! They're lazy to look at, an' kindo' go Buzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow, An' ac' so slouchy an' all fagged out, Danglin' their legs as they drone about The hollyhawks 'at they can't climb in 'Ithout ist a-tumble-un out agin! Wunst I watched one climb clean 'way In a jim'son-blossom, I did, one day,— An' I ist grabbed it—an' nen let go— An' "Ooh-ooh! Honey! I told ye so!" Says The Raggedy Man ”

“ The old stompin'-groun', where we Wore the grass off, wild and free As the swoop of the old swing, Where we ust to climb and cling, And twist roun', and fight, and lie— Waitin' fer the cat to die! 'Pears like I 'most allus could Swing the highest of the crowd— Jes sail up there tel I stood Downside-up, and screech out loud,— Ketch my breath, and jes drap back Fer to let the old swing slack, Yit my tow-head dippin' still In the green boughs, and the chill Up my backbone taperin' down, With my shadder on the ground' Slow and slower trailin' by— Waitin' fer the cat to die! ”

“ An' bee-hives, where you got to be So keerful, goin' by;— An' "Comp'ny" there an' all!—an' we— We et out on the porch! An' I ist et p'surves an' things 'At Ma don't 'low me to— An' chickun-gizzurds— (don't like wings Like Parunts does! do you?) An' all the time, the wind blowed there, An' I could feel it in my hair, An' ist smell clover ever'where!— An' a' old red-head flew Purt' nigh wite over my high-chair, When we et on the porch! ”