James Whitcomb Riley

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

James Whitcomb Riley Poems

81. Wash Lowry's Reminiscence 4/9/2010
82. Wet Weather Talk 4/9/2010
83. What Chris'Mas Fetched The Wigginses 4/9/2010
84. We Must Believe 4/9/2010
85. The Drum 4/9/2010
86. What Smith Knew About Farming 4/9/2010
87. What The Wind Said 4/9/2010
88. To Hear Her Sing 4/9/2010
89. Wait For The Morning 4/9/2010
90. To My Old Friend, William Leachman 4/9/2010
91. Them Flowers 4/9/2010
92. The Train Misser 4/9/2010
93. The South Wind And The Sun 4/9/2010
94. The Shower 4/9/2010
95. The Rainy Morning 4/9/2010
96. The Rose 4/9/2010
97. The Old Year And The New 4/9/2010
98. The Lost Path 4/9/2010
99. The Little Lady 4/9/2010
100. The Hoosier Folk-Child 4/9/2010
101. The Evening Company 4/9/2010
102. Thanksgiving 4/9/2010
103. The Chant Of The Cross-Bearing Child 4/9/2010
104. The Boy Patriot 4/9/2010
105. Robert Burns Wilson 4/9/2010
106. Philiper Flash 4/9/2010
107. Pipes O' Pan At Zekesbury 4/9/2010
108. The Hereafter 4/9/2010
109. The Clover 4/9/2010
110. The Orchard Lands Of Long Ago 4/9/2010
111. Thinkin' Back 4/9/2010
112. To The Judge 4/9/2010
113. When Age Comes On 4/9/2010
114. We Are Not Always Glad When We Smile 4/9/2010
115. The Same Old Story 4/9/2010
116. The Sermon Of The Rose 4/9/2010
117. To Annie 4/9/2010
118. The Old-Home Folks 4/9/2010
119. The Pet Coon 4/9/2010
120. The Old Tramp 4/9/2010

Comments about James Whitcomb Riley

  • 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.

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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

Orlie Wilde

A goddess, with a siren's grace,--
A sun-haired girl on a craggy place
Above a bay where fish-boats lay
Drifting about like birds of prey.

Wrought was she of a painter's dream,--
Wise only as are artists wise,
My artist-friend, Rolf Herschkelhiem,
With deep sad eyes of oversize,

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