The Best Times
When Old Folks they wuz young like us
An' little as you an' me
Them wuz the best times ever wuz
Er ever goin' to be!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Her Waiting Face
In some strange place
Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face--
Comes marveling upon it, unaware,
Set moonwise in the midnight of her hair.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Moon-Drowned
'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot,
And quietly stole to the terrace alone,
Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it,
The moon it
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Very Youthful Affair
I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week
To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek,
An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat,
An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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In Fervent Praise Of Picnics
Picnics is fun 'at's purty hard to beat.
I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than _eat_.
I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than go
With our Char_lot_ty to the Trick-Dog Show.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Company Manners
When Bess gave her Dollies a Tea, said she,--
'It's unpolite, when they's Company,
To say you've drinked _two_ cups, you see,--
But say you've drinked _a couple_ of tea.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Boy's Candidate
Las' time 'at Uncle Sidney come,
He bringed a watermelon home--
An' half the boys in town,
Come taggin' after him.--An' he
Says, when we et it,--_'Gracious me!
'S the boy-house fell down?'_
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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To Annie
When the lids of dusk are falling
O'er the dreamy eyes of day,
And the whippoorwills are calling,
And the lesson laid away,--
May Mem'ry soft and tender
As the prelude of the night,
Bend over you and render
As tranquil a delight.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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As Created
There's a space for good to bloom in
Every heart of man or woman,--
And however wild or human,
Or however brimmed with gall,
Never heart may beat without it;
And the darkest heart to doubt it
Has something good about it
After all.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Sphinx
I know all about the Sphinx--
I know even what she thinks,
Staring with her stony eyes
Up forever at the skies.
For last night I dreamed that she
Told me all the mystery--
Why for aeons mute she sat--:
She was just cut out for that!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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