James Whitcomb Riley Poems

The old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine,
And filled it is with plenty and to spare--,
But we are lonely here in life's decline,
...

Ho! I'm going back to where
We were youngsters.--Meet me there,
Dear old barefoot chum, and we
Will be as we used to be,--
...

Elizabeth! Elizabeth!
The first May-morning whispereth
Thy gentle name in every breeze
...

Lay away the story,--
Though the theme is sweet,
There's a lack of something yet,
Leaves it incomplete:--
...

When Memory, with gentle hand,
Has led me to that foreign land
Of childhood days, I long to be
Again the boy on bended knee,
...

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear;
There is ever a something sings alway:
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear,
...

The touches of her hands are like the fall
Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down
The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;
...

Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheeze
Lives 'way up in the leaves o' trees.
An' wunst I slipped up-stairs to play
In Aunty's room, while she 'uz away;
...

He wooed her first in an atmosphere
Of tender and low-breathed sighs;
...

I.

In the jolly winters
Of the long-ago,
It was not so cold as now
...