James Whitcomb Riley

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

James Whitcomb Riley Poems

321. The Legend Glorified 4/9/2010
322. The Little Coat 4/9/2010
323. The Little Fat Doctor 4/9/2010
324. The Little Lady 4/9/2010
325. The Little Town O' Tailholt 4/9/2010
326. The Loehrs And The Hammonds 4/9/2010
327. The Lost Kiss 4/9/2010
328. The Lost Path 4/9/2010
329. The Lost Thrill 4/9/2010
330. The Lugubrious Whing-Whang 4/9/2010
331. The Merman 1/3/2003
332. The Mulberry Tree 4/9/2010
333. The Nine Little Goblins 4/9/2010
334. The Old Days 4/9/2010
335. The Old Guitar 1/3/2003
336. The Old Hay-Mow 4/9/2010
337. The Old Home By The Mill 4/9/2010
338. The Old Retired Sea Captain 4/9/2010
339. The Old Swimmin' Hole 12/31/2002
340. The Old Times Were The Best 1/3/2003
341. The Old Tramp 4/9/2010
342. The Old Trundle-Bed 4/9/2010
343. The Old Year And The New 4/9/2010
344. The Old-Home Folks 4/9/2010
345. The Orchard Lands Of Long Ago 4/9/2010
346. The Passing Of A Heart 4/9/2010
347. The Pathos Of Applause 4/9/2010
348. The Pet Coon 4/9/2010
349. The Pixy People 4/9/2010
350. The Plaint Human 4/9/2010
351. The Quest 4/9/2010
352. The Quiet Lodger 4/9/2010
353. The Raggedy Man 12/31/2002
354. The Rain 4/9/2010
355. The Rainy Morning 4/9/2010
356. The Rambo-Tree 4/9/2010
357. The Rapture Of The Year 1/3/2003
358. The Rider Of The Knee 4/9/2010
359. The Ripest Peach 1/3/2003
360. The Rival 1/4/2003
Best Poem of James Whitcomb Riley

When The Frost Is On The Punkin

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey cock
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of...

Read the full of When The Frost Is On The Punkin

Our Hired Girl

1 Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann;
2 An' she can cook best things to eat!
3 She ist puts dough in our pie-pan,
4 An' pours in somepin' 'at's good an' sweet;
5 An' nen she salts it all on top
6 With cinnamon; an' nen she'll stop
7 An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow,
8 In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twon't slop
9 An' git all spilled; nen bakes it, so

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