James Whitcomb Riley

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

James Whitcomb Riley Poems

281. Grant At Rest-- August 8, 1885 4/9/2010
282. His Room 4/9/2010
283. A Song Of Long Ago 4/9/2010
284. Craqueodoom 4/9/2010
285. Natural Perversities 4/9/2010
286. Kissing The Rod 4/9/2010
287. Dream-March 4/9/2010
288. Dawn, Noon And Dewfall 4/9/2010
289. An Impetuous Resolve 4/9/2010
290. Jim 4/9/2010
291. I Smoke My Pipe 4/9/2010
292. Limitations Of Genius 4/9/2010
293. A Scrawl 4/9/2010
294. Dan Paine 4/9/2010
295. Our Little Girl 4/9/2010
296. Lockerbie Street 4/9/2010
297. His Mother's Way 4/9/2010
298. Jack-In-The-Box 4/9/2010
299. Honey Dripping From The Comb 4/9/2010
300. Just To Be Good 4/9/2010
301. Winter Fancies 4/9/2010
302. Writin' Back To The Home-Folks 4/9/2010
303. Naughty Claude 4/9/2010
304. Noey's Night-Piece 4/9/2010
305. His Vigil 4/9/2010
306. John Alden And Percilly 4/9/2010
307. A New Year's Time At Willards's 4/9/2010
308. Our Own 4/9/2010
309. My Father's Halls 4/9/2010
310. While The Musician Played 4/9/2010
311. When Early March Seems Middle May 4/9/2010
312. At Sea 4/9/2010
313. Back From A Two-Years' Sentence 4/9/2010
314. As Created 4/9/2010
315. Longfellow 4/9/2010
316. Let Us Forget 4/9/2010
317. Being His Mother 4/9/2010
318. He And I 4/9/2010
319. Lullaby 4/9/2010
320. Out Of Nazareth 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

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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