James Whitcomb Riley

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

James Whitcomb Riley Poems

361. The Rose 4/9/2010
362. The Runaway Boy 4/9/2010
363. The Same Old Story 4/9/2010
364. The Serenade 4/9/2010
365. The Sermon Of The Rose 4/9/2010
366. The Shoemaker 4/9/2010
367. The Shower 4/9/2010
368. The Silent Victors 4/9/2010
369. The Singer 4/9/2010
370. The Song Of Yesterday 1/3/2003
371. The South Wind And The Sun 4/9/2010
372. The Speeding Of The King's Spite 4/9/2010
373. The Sphinx 4/9/2010
374. The Squirtgun Uncle Maked Me 4/9/2010
375. The Stepmother 4/9/2010
376. The Touches Of Her Hand 4/9/2010
377. The Town Karnteel 4/9/2010
378. The Train Misser 4/9/2010
379. The Treasure Of The Wise Man 4/9/2010
380. The Tree-Toad 4/9/2010
381. The Twins 4/9/2010
382. The Wandering Jew 4/9/2010
383. The Watches Of The Night 4/9/2010
384. The Way It Wuz 4/9/2010
385. The Wife-Blessed 4/9/2010
386. The Willow 1/3/2003
387. Their Sweet Sorrow 4/9/2010
388. Them Flowers 4/9/2010
389. There Was A Cherry-Tree 1/3/2003
390. Thinkin' Back 4/9/2010
391. Thomas The Pretender 4/9/2010
392. Thoughts Fer The Discuraged Farmer 4/9/2010
393. Three Dead Friends 4/9/2010
394. Through Sleepy-Land 4/9/2010
395. Time 4/9/2010
396. Time Of Clearer Twitterings 4/9/2010
397. To A Boy Whistling 1/3/2003
398. To An Importunate Ghost 4/9/2010
399. To Annie 4/9/2010
400. To Hear Her Sing 4/9/2010
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 Parting Guest

What delightful hosts are they --
   Life and Love!
Lingeringly I turn away,
   This late hour, yet glad enough
They have not withheld from me
   Their high hospitality.
So, with face lit with delight
   And all gratitude, I stay
   Yet to press their hands and say,

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