James Whitcomb Riley
James Whitcomb Riley
James Whitcomb Rileywas an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. During his lifetime he was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and his children's poetry respectively. His poems tended to be humorous or sentimental, and of the approximately one thousand poems that Riley authored, the majority are in dialect. His famous works include "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man"...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth7 October 1849
CountryUnited States of America
Somebody's sent a funny little valentine to me. It's a bunch of baby-roses in a vase of filigree, And hovering above them ... is a fairy cupid tangled in a scarf of poetry.
He is not dead, he is just - away.
Just a wee cot-the crickets chirr-love and the smiling face of her.
Think of him still as the same, I say, He is not dead, he is just - away.
O'er folded blooms On swirls of musk, The beetle booms adown the glooms And bumps along the dusk.
Who bides his time tastes the sweet Of honey in the saltiest tear; And though he fares with slowest feet Joy runs to meet him drawing near.
And the sun had on a crown Wrought of gilded thistledown, And a scarf of velvet vapor And a raveled rainbow gown; And his tinsel-tangled hair Tossed and lost upon the air Was glossier and flossier Than any anywhere.
The jelly - the jam and the marmalade, And the cherry-and quince-'preserves' she made! And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear, With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare! And the more we ate was the more to spare, Out to old Aunt Mary's! Ah!
I don't know how to tell it--but ef such a thing could be As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me-- I'd want to 'ccommodate 'em--all the whole-in-durin' flock-- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
The ripest peach is highest on the tree
When you awaken some morning and hear that somebody or other has been discovered, you can put it down as a fact that he discovered himself years ago - since that time he has been toiling, working, and striving to make himself worthy of general discovery.
I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead. He is just away. With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land And left us dreaming how very fair It needs must be, since he lingers there. And you - oh you, who the wildest yearn For an old-time step, and the glad return, Think of him faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here. Think of him still as the same. I say, He is not dead - he is just away.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till in shadowy design I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.
Long about knee-deep in June, 'Bout the time strewberries melts On the vine.