James Whitcomb Riley

(7 October 1849 - 22 July 1916 / Greenfield, Indiana)

Comments about James Whitcomb Riley

  • Rookie Jules Levin (11/15/2013 11:13:00 AM)

    I am looking for the date of writing/publishing for each poem and could not find it on the site.
    Am I overlooking something obvious?

    7 person liked.
    9 person did not like.
  • Rookie Joybaby John (11/1/2012 6:57:00 AM)

    Hi,
    I am miss joy by name, Is my pleasure to contact you after going through your profile at /www.poemhunter.com which really interest me in having communication with you. I will appreciate if you can write me back (joybabyjohn25@yahoo.co.uk) for easiest communication and to know more about each other so that i will explain myself to you and also send my picture to you.
    Take care and have a nice day.
    I await hearing from you soonest.
    Yours truly
    joy

    (joybabyjohn25@yahoo.co.uk)

  • Rookie Catharine Dee (3/10/2012 2:21:00 PM)

    Date of birth listed above is wrong. It's October 7th not the 9th.

  • Rookie Stella Mary (1/3/2012 5:00:00 AM)

    I read your poems and it was good.

  • Rookie Tony Judson (9/15/2006 8:21:00 AM)

    James I read your 'poem of the day' and I think it is brilliant! your sense of rythmn & rhyme is beautiful and your poetic license with spelling and alliteration is superb.
    It makes wish I could have been the fly on the wall in a meeting between you and the late Ogden Nash- Keep it up Cheers Tony Judson

  • Rookie Carolyn Binkley (10/6/2005 6:47:00 PM)

    James Whitcomb Riley is by far one of my favorite poets of all time. I love his imagery, his imagination, his rhyme and rhythm. And most of all I love his sense of 'simple' and his connection to the nature in all of us. He cleverly plays with that which is real, unlike Lewis Carroll who cleverly plays with that which is not.

Best Poem of James Whitcomb Riley

A Barefoot Boy

A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play --
For May is here once more, and so is he, --
His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,
And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:
Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in array
Of feverish stripes, hint vividly to me
Of woody pathways winding endlessly
Along the creek, where even yesterday
He plunged his shrinking body -- gasped and shook --
Yet called the water 'warm,' with never lack
Of joy. And so, half enviously I look
Upon this graceless barefoot and his track, --
His toe stubbed -- ay, his big toe-nail ...

Read the full of A Barefoot Boy

A Life-Lesson

There! little girl; don't cry!
They have broken your doll, I know;
And your tea-set blue,
And your play-house, too,
Are things of the long ago;
But childish troubles will soon pass by. --
There! little girl; don't cry!

There! little girl; don't cry!

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