The Project Gutenberg eBook ofRiley Love-LyricsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Riley Love-LyricsAuthor: James Whitcomb RileyIllustrator: Will VawterRelease date: November 23, 2006 [eBook #19897]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the OnlineDistributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY LOVE-LYRICS ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Riley Love-LyricsAuthor: James Whitcomb RileyIllustrator: Will VawterRelease date: November 23, 2006 [eBook #19897]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the OnlineDistributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net
Title: Riley Love-Lyrics
Author: James Whitcomb RileyIllustrator: Will Vawter
Author: James Whitcomb Riley
Illustrator: Will Vawter
Release date: November 23, 2006 [eBook #19897]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the OnlineDistributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY LOVE-LYRICS ***
INDIANAPOLISTHE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANYPUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 1897, 1898, 1901, 1905, by James Whitcomb Riley
Copyright 1921, The Bobbs-Merrill Company
PRESS OFBRAUNWORTH & CO.BOOK MANUFACTURERSBROOKLYN, N.Y.
INSCRIBED
TO THE ELECT OF LOVE,—OR SIDE-BY-SIDEIN RAPTEST ECSTASY, OR SUNDERED WIDEBY SEAS THAT BEAR NO MESSAGE TO OR FROBETWEEN THE LOVED AND LOST OF LONG AGO.
So were I but a minstrel, deftAt weaving, with the trembling stringsOf my glad harp, the warp and weftOf rondels such as rapture sings,—I'd loop my lyre across my breast,Nor stay me till my knee found restIn midnight banks of bud and flowerBeneath my lady's lattice-bower.And there, drenched with the teary dews,I'd woo her with such wondrous artAs well might stanch the songs that oozeOut of the mockbird's breaking heart;So light, so tender, and so sweetShould be the words I would repeat,Her casement, on my gradual sight,Would blossom as a lily might.
So were I but a minstrel, deftAt weaving, with the trembling stringsOf my glad harp, the warp and weftOf rondels such as rapture sings,—I'd loop my lyre across my breast,Nor stay me till my knee found restIn midnight banks of bud and flowerBeneath my lady's lattice-bower.
And there, drenched with the teary dews,I'd woo her with such wondrous artAs well might stanch the songs that oozeOut of the mockbird's breaking heart;So light, so tender, and so sweetShould be the words I would repeat,Her casement, on my gradual sight,Would blossom as a lily might.
BLOOMS OF MAY
DISCOURAGING MODEL, A
"DREAM"
FARMER WHIFFLE—BACHELOR
HAS SHE FORGOTTEN?
HE AND I
HE CALLED HER IN
HER BEAUTIFUL EYES
HER FACE AND BROW
HER HAIR
HER WAITING FACE
HOME AT NIGHT
HOW IT HAPPENED
IKE WALTON'S PRAYER
ILLILEO
JUDITH
LAST NIGHT AND THIS
LEONAINIE
LET US FORGET
LOST PATH, THE
MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE
MY MARY
NOTHIN' TO SAY
OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG, A'
OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE, AN
OLD YEAR AND THE NEW, THE
OUT-WORN SAPPHO, AN
PASSING OF A HEART, THE
RIVAL, THE
ROSE, THE
SERMON OF THE ROSE, THE
SUSPENSE
THEIR SWEET SORROW
TO HEAR HER SING
TOM VAN ARDEN
TOUCHES OF HER HANDS, THE
VARIATION, A
VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR, A
WHEN AGE COMES ON
WHEN LIDE MARRIEDHIM
WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE
WHEN SHE COMES HOME
WHERE SHALL WE LAND?
WIFE-BLESSÉD, THE
AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINEAs one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yokeIts fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.Tis a fragrant retrospection—for the loving thoughts that startInto being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart;And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine—When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart of mine.Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings,The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings,I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any themeWhen Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.
AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.
The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yokeIts fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.
Tis a fragrant retrospection—for the loving thoughts that startInto being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart;And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine—When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart of mine.
Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings,The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings,I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any themeWhen Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.
In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charmTo spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm—For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wineThat makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace.Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase;And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyesAs glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dressShe wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caressWith the written declaration that, "as surely as the vineGrew round the stump," she loved me—that old sweetheart of mine.And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand,As we used to talk together of the future we had planned—When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to doBut write the tender verses that she set the music to:When we should live together in a cozy little cotHid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot,Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine,And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine:When I should be her lover forever and a day,And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray;And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumbThey would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come.
In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charmTo spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm—For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wineThat makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.
A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace.Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase;And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyesAs glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.
I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dressShe wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caressWith the written declaration that, "as surely as the vineGrew round the stump," she loved me—that old sweetheart of mine.
And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand,As we used to talk together of the future we had planned—When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to doBut write the tender verses that she set the music to:
When we should live together in a cozy little cotHid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot,Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine,And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine:
When I should be her lover forever and a day,And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray;And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumbThey would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come.
But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair,And the door is softly opened, and—my wife is standing there;Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resignTo greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.
But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair,And the door is softly opened, and—my wife is standing there;Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resignTo greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.
A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG
It's the curiousest thing in creation,Whenever I hear that old song"Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered,My life seems as short as it's long!—Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzacklyIt 'peared in the years past and gone,—When I started out sparkin', at twenty,And had my first neckercher on!Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayerRight now than my parents was then,You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me,"And I'm jest a youngster again!—I'm a-standin' back thare in the furriesA-wishin' fer evening to come,And a-whisperin' over and overThem words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"
It's the curiousest thing in creation,Whenever I hear that old song"Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered,My life seems as short as it's long!—Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzacklyIt 'peared in the years past and gone,—When I started out sparkin', at twenty,And had my first neckercher on!
Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayerRight now than my parents was then,You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me,"And I'm jest a youngster again!—I'm a-standin' back thare in the furriesA-wishin' fer evening to come,And a-whisperin' over and overThem words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"
You see,Marthy Ellen shesung itThe first time I heerd it; and so,As she was my very first sweetheart,It reminds me of her, don't you know;—How her face used to look, in the twilight,As I tuck her to Spellin'; and sheKep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her,Pint-blank, ef she ever missedme!I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,And hear her low answerin' words;And then the glad chirp of the crickets,As clear as the twitter of birds;And the dust in the road is like velvet,And the ragweed and fennel and grassIs as sweet as the scent of the liliesOf Eden of old, as we pass."Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower—And softer—and sweet as the breezeThat powdered our path with the snowyWhite bloom of the old locus'-trees!Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it,And the echoes 'way over the hill,Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorusOf stars, and our voices is still.But oh! "They's a chord in the musicThat's missed whenhervoice is away!"Though I listen from midnight tel morning,And dawn tel the dusk of the day!And I grope through the dark, lookin' upwardsAnd on through the heavenly dome,With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"
You see,Marthy Ellen shesung itThe first time I heerd it; and so,As she was my very first sweetheart,It reminds me of her, don't you know;—How her face used to look, in the twilight,As I tuck her to Spellin'; and sheKep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her,Pint-blank, ef she ever missedme!
I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,And hear her low answerin' words;And then the glad chirp of the crickets,As clear as the twitter of birds;And the dust in the road is like velvet,And the ragweed and fennel and grassIs as sweet as the scent of the liliesOf Eden of old, as we pass.
"Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower—And softer—and sweet as the breezeThat powdered our path with the snowyWhite bloom of the old locus'-trees!Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it,And the echoes 'way over the hill,Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorusOf stars, and our voices is still.
But oh! "They's a chord in the musicThat's missed whenhervoice is away!"Though I listen from midnight tel morning,And dawn tel the dusk of the day!And I grope through the dark, lookin' upwardsAnd on through the heavenly dome,With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"
A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIRI'm bin a-visitun 'bout a weekTo my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek,An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat,An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at.
A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR
I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a weekTo my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek,An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat,An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at.