James Whitcomb Riley Poems

Dead! Dead! Dead!
We thought him ours alone;
And were so proud to see him tread
...

As though a gipsy maiden with dim look,
Sat crooning by the roadside of the year,
...

The warm pulse of the nation has grown chill;
The muffled heart of Freedom, like a knell,
Throbs solemnly for one whose earthly will
...

They ain't no style about 'em,
And they're sorto' pale and faded,
Yit the doorway here, without 'em,
Would be lonesomer, and shaded
...

While _any_ day was notable and dear
That gave the children Noey, history here
Records his advent emphasized indeed
...

Hey, Old Midsummer! are you here again,
With all your harvest-store of olden joys,--
Vast overhanging meadow-lands of rain,
...

I would not trace the hackneyed phrase
Of shallow words and empty praise,
And prate of 'peace' till one might think
...

Writ in between the lines of his life-deed
We trace the sacred service of a heart
Answering the Divine command, in every part
...

Of the North I wove a dream,
All bespangled with the gleam
Of the glancing wings of swallows
...

Another hero of those youthful years
Returns, as Noey Bixler's name appears.
And Noey--if in any special way--
...