Chapter 1
Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Diane Monico, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
RILEY LOVE-LYRICS
RILEY LOVE-LYRICS
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
WITH LIFE PICTURES BY WILLIAM B. DYER
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 1897, 1898, 1901, 1905
by
James Whitcomb Riley
INSCRIBED
To the Elect of Love,--or side-by-side In raptest ecstasy, or sundered wide By seas that bear no message to or fro Between the loved and lost of long ago.
So were I but a minstrel, deft At weaving, with the trembling strings Of my glad harp, the warp and weft Of rondels such as rapture sings,-- I'd loop my lyre across my breast, Nor stay me till my knee found rest In midnight banks of bud and flower Beneath my lady's lattice-bower.
And there, drenched with the teary dews, I'd woo her with such wondrous art As well might stanch the songs that ooze Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; So light, so tender, and so sweet Should be the words I would repeat, Her casement, on my gradual sight, Would blossom as a lily might.
CONTENTS
PAGE
BLOOMS OF MAY 185
DISCOURAGING MODEL, A 133
"DREAM" 46
FARMER WHIPPLE--BACHELOR 167
HAS SHE FORGOTTEN? 181
HE AND I 83
HE CALLED HER IN 50
HER BEAUTIFUL EYES 60
HER HAIR 128
HER FACE AND BROW 63
HER WAITING FACE 71
HOME AT NIGHT 122
HOW IT HAPPENED 95
IKE WALTON'S PRAYER 107
ILLILEO 111
JUDITH 79
LAST NIGHT AND THIS 131
LEONAINIE 68
LET US FORGET 64
LOST PATH, THE 87
MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE 90
MY MARY 117
NOTHIN' TO SAY 103
OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG, A' 31
OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE, AN 23
OLD YEAR AND THE NEW, THE 72
OUT-WORN SAPPHO, AN 37
PASSING OF A HEART, THE 44
RIVAL, THE 148
ROSE, THE 178
SERMON OF THE ROSE, THE 189
SONG OF LONG AGO, A 160
SUSPENSE 136
THEIR SWEET SORROW 76
TO HEAR HER SING 146
TOM VAN ARDEN 139
TOUCHES OF HER HANDS, THE 157
VARIATION, A 151
VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR, A 36
WHEN AGE COMES ON 164
WHEN LIDE MARRIED _Him_ 125
WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 99
WHEN SHE COMES HOME 67
WHERE SHALL WE LAND 154
WIFE-BLESSÉD, THE 115
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
LOVE-LYRICS FRONTISPIECE
ILLUSTRATIONS--TAILPIECE xx
AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 23
AND I LIGHT MY PIPE IN SILENCE 24
THE VOICES OF MY CHILDREN 25
THE PINK SUNBONNET 26
WHEN FIRST I KISSED HER 27
MY WIFE IS STANDING THERE 30
A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 33
A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG--TAILPIECE 35
A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR 36
AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO 41
AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO--TAILPIECE 43
THE PASSING OF A HEART--TITLE 44
THE PASSING OF A HEART--TAILPIECE 45
"DREAM" 47
"DREAM"--TAILPIECE 49
HE CALLED HER IN--TITLE 50
A DARK AND EERIE CHILD 51
WHEN SHE FIRST CAME TO ME 57
HE CALLED HER IN--TAILPIECE 59
HER BEAUTIFUL EYES 61
HER FACE AND BROW 63
LET US FORGET--TITLE 64
OUR WORN EYES ARE WET 65
WHEN SHE COMES HOME 67
LEONAINIE--TITLE 68
LEONAINIE--TAILPIECE 70
HER WAITING FACE 71
THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW--TITLE 72
I SAW THE OLD YEAR END 73
THEIR SWEET SORROW 77
JUDITH 79
O, HER EYES ARE AMBER-FINE 81
HE AND I 85
THE LOST PATH--TITLE 87
THE LOST PATH 89
MADONNA-LIKE AND GLORIFIED 91
HOW IT HAPPENED 97
WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 101
NOTHIN' TO SAY 105
IKE WALTON'S PRAYER--TITLE 107
IKE WALTON'S PRAYER--TAILPIECE 110
ILLILEO 113
WIFE-BLESSÉD, THE 115
THE AULD TRYSTING-TREE 119
MY MARY--TAILPIECE 121
HOME AT NIGHT 123
WHEN LIDE MARRIED _Him_--TITLE 125
WHEN LIDE MARRIED _Him_--TAILPIECE 127
HER HAIR 129
LAST NIGHT AND THIS--TITLE 131
LAST NIGHT AND THIS--TAILPIECE 132
A DISCOURAGING MODEL--TITLE 133
A CAMEO FACE 135
SUSPENSE 137
TOM VAN ARDEN--TITLE 139
TOM VAN ARDEN 141
TO HEAR HER SING 146
THE RIVAL 148
A VARIATION--TITLE 151
WHERE SHALL WE LAND?--TITLE 154
WHERE SHALL WE LAND?--TAILPIECE 156
THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS--TITLE 157
THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS--TAILPIECE 158
O RARELY SOFT, THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS 159
A SONG OF LONG AGO 161
WHEN AGE COMES ON 165
FARMER WHIPPLE--BACHELOR--TITLE 167
RIDIN' HOME WITH MARY 171
FARMER WHIPPLE--BACHELOR--TAILPIECE 177
THE ROSE--TITLE 178
HAS SHE FORGOTTEN? 183
BLOOMS OF MAY--TITLE 185
O LAD AND LASS 186
O GLEAM AND GLOOM AND WOODLAND BLOOM 187
THE SERMON OF THE ROSE 191
RILEY LOVE-LYRICS
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 yoke Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.
'Tis a fragrant retrospection--for the loving thoughts that start Into 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 theme When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.
In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm-- For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine That 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 eyes As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.
I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine Grew 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 do But write the tender verses that she set the music to:
When we should live together in a cozy little cot Hid 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 dumb They 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 resign To 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 adzackly It '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 grayer Right 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 furries A-wishin' fer evening to come, And a-whisperin' over and over Them words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"
You see, _Marthy Ellen she_ sung it The 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 she Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her, Pine-blank, ef she ever missed _me_!
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 grass Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies Of Eden of old, as we pass.
"_Do They Miss Me at Home?_" Sing it lower-- And softer--and sweet as the breeze That powdered our path with the snowy White 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 chorus Of stars, and our voices is still.
But oh! "They's a chord in the music That's missed when _her_ voice is away!" Though I listen from midnight tel morning, And dawn tel the dusk of the day! And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards And on through the heavenly dome, With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin' The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"
A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR
I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week To 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.
AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO
How tired I am! I sink down all alone Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo, Even as a child I hide my face and moan-- A little girl that may no farther go; The path above me only seems to grow More rugged, climbing still, and ever briered With keener thorns of pain than these below; And O the bleeding feet that falter so And are so very tired!
Why, I have journeyed from the far-off Lands Of Babyhood--where baby-lilies blew Their trumpets in mine ears, and filled my hands With treasures of perfume and honey-dew, And where the orchard shadows ever drew Their cool arms round me when my cheeks were fired With too much joy, and lulled mine eyelids to, And only let the starshine trickle through In sprays, when I was tired!
Yet I remember, when the butterfly Went flickering about me like a flame That quenched itself in roses suddenly, How oft I wished that _I_ might blaze the same, And in some rose-wreath nestle with my name, While all the world looked on it and admired.-- Poor moth!--Along my wavering flight toward fame The winds drive backward, and my wings are lame And broken, bruised and tired!
I hardly know the path from those old times; I know at first it was a smoother one Than this that hurries past me now, and climbs So high, its far cliffs even hide the sun And shroud in gloom my journey scarce begun. I could not do quite all the world required-- I could not do quite all I should have done, And in my eagerness I have outrun My strength--and I am tired....
Just tired! But when of old I had the stay Of mother-hands, O very sweet indeed It was to dream that all the weary way I should but follow where I now must lead-- For long ago they left me in my need, And, groping on alone, I tripped and mired Among rank grasses where the serpents breed In knotted coils about the feet of speed.-- There first it was I tired.
And yet I staggered on, and bore my load Right gallantly: The sun, in summer-time, In lazy belts came slipping down the road To woo me on, with many a glimmering rhyme Rained from the golden rim of some fair clime, That, hovering beyond the clouds, inspired My failing heart with fancies so sublime I half forgot my path of dust and grime, Though I was growing tired.
And there were many voices cheering me: I listened to sweet praises where the wind Went laughing o'er my shoulders gleefully And scattering my love-songs far behind;-- Until, at last, I thought the world so kind-- So rich in all my yearning soul desired-- So generous--so loyally inclined, I grew to love and trust it.... I was blind-- Yea, blind as I was tired!
And yet one hand held me in creature-touch: And O, how fair it was, how true and strong, How it did hold my heart up like a crutch, Till, in my dreams, I joyed to walk along The toilsome way, contented with a song-- 'Twas all of earthly things I had acquired, And 'twas enough, I feigned, or right or wrong, Since, binding me to man--a mortal thong-- It stayed me, growing tired....
Yea, I had e'en resigned me to the strait Of earthly rulership--had bowed my head Acceptant of the master-mind--the great One lover--lord of all,--the perfected Kiss-comrade of my soul;--had stammering said My prayers to him;--all--all that he desired I rendered sacredly as we were wed.-- Nay--nay!--'twas but a myth I worshippéd.-- And--God of love!--how tired!
For, O my friends, to lose the latest grasp-- To feel the last hope slipping from its hold-- To feel the one fond hand within your clasp Fall slack, and loosen with a touch so cold Its pressure may not warm you as of old Before the light of love had thus expired-- To know your tears are worthless, though they rolled Their torrents out in molten drops of gold.-- God's pity! I am tired!
And I must rest.--Yet do not say "She _died_," In speaking of me, sleeping here alone. I kiss the grassy grave I sink beside, And close mine eyes in slumber all mine own: Hereafter I shall neither sob nor moan Nor murmur one complaint;--all I desired, And failed in life to find, will now be known-- So let me dream. Good night! And on the stone Say simply: She was tired.
THE PASSING OF A HEART
O Touch me with your hands-- For pity's sake! My brow throbs ever on with such an ache As only your cool touch may take away; And so, I pray You, touch me with your hands!
Touch--touch me with your hands.-- Smooth back the hair You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair That I did dream its gold would wear alway, And lo, to-day-- O touch me with your hands!
Just touch me with your hands, And let them press My weary eyelids with the old caress, And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way, That Death may say: He touched her with his hands.
"DREAM"
Because her eyes were far too deep And holy for a laugh to leap Across the brink where sorrow tried To drown within the amber tide; Because the looks, whose ripples kissed The trembling lids through tender mist, Were dazzled with a radiant gleam-- Because of this I called her "Dream."
Because the roses growing wild About her features when she smiled Were ever dewed with tears that fell With tenderness ineffable; Because her lips might spill a kiss That, dripping in a world like this, Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream To sweetness--so I called her "Dream."
Because I could not understand The magic touches of a hand That seemed, beneath her strange control, To smooth the plumage of the soul And calm it, till, with folded wings, It half forgot its flutterings, And, nestled in her palm, did seem To trill a song that called her "Dream."
Because I saw her, in a sleep As dark and desolate and deep And fleeting as the taunting night That flings a vision of delight To some lorn martyr as he lies In slumber ere the day he dies-- Because she vanished like a gleam Of glory, do I call her "Dream."
HE CALLED HER IN
I
He called her in from me and shut the door. And she so loved the sunshine and the sky!-- She loved them even better yet than I That ne'er knew dearth of them--my mother dead, Nature had nursed me in her lap instead: And I had grown a dark and eerie child That rarely smiled, Save when, shut all alone in grasses high, Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky And coaxing Mother to smile back on me. 'Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly Came to me, nestled in the fields beside A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide-- The sunshine beating in upon the floor
Like golden rain.-- O sweet, sweet face above me, turn again And leave me! I had cried, but that an ache Within my throat so gripped it I could make No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so, I felt her light hand laid Upon my hair--a touch that ne'er before Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid-- It seemed the touch the children used to know When Christ was here, so dear it was--so dear,-- At once I loved her as the leaves love dew In midmost summer when the days are new. Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl Of silken sunshine did she clip for me Out of the bright May-morning of her hair, And bound and gave it to me laughingly, And caught my hands and called me "_Little girl_," Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there! And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress Of my great happiness. She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean The raiment--drew me with her everywhere: Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green: Put up her dainty hands and peeped between Her fingers at the blossoms--crooned and talked To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked,-- Said _this_ one was her angel mother--_this_, Her baby-sister--come back, for a kiss, Clean from the Good-World!--smiled and kissed them, then Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again. And so did she beguile me--so we played,-- She was the dazzling Shine--I, the dark Shade-- And we did mingle like to these, and thus, Together, made The perfect summer, pure and glorious. So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon Our happiness.--She, startled as a fawn, Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father!"--all the blossoms gone From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp.-- Harsher the voice came:--She could only gasp Affrightedly, "Good-bye!--good-bye! good-bye!" And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame Through soul and frame, And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er,-- "He called her in from me and shut the door!"
II
He called her in from me and shut the door! And I went wandering alone again-- So lonely--O so very lonely then, I thought no little sallow star, alone In all a world of twilight, e'er had known Such utter loneliness. But that I wore Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair To lighten up the night of my despair, I think I might have groped into my grave Nor cared to wave The ferns above it with a breath of prayer. And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face That bent above me in my hiding-place That day amid the grasses there beside Her pleasant home!--"Her _pleasant_ home!" I sighed, Remembering;--then shut my teeth and feigned The harsh voice calling _me_,--then clinched my nails So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained, And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales In splendid martyrdom, with soul serene, As near to God as high the guillotine. And I had _envied_ her? Not that--O no! But I had longed for some sweet haven so!-- Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide Where those that loved me touched me with their hands, And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped My yearning face and kissed it satisfied. Then bitterly I murmured as before,-- "He called her in from me and shut the door!"
III
He called her in from me and shut the door! After long struggling with my pride and pain-- A weary while it seemed, in which the more I held myself from her, the greater fain Was I to look upon her face again;-- At last--at last--half conscious where my feet Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet Green grasses there where she First came to me.-- The very blossoms she had plucked that day, And, at her father's voice, had cast away, Around me lay, Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine; And as I gathered each one eagerly, I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine Her kisses left there for the honey-bee. Then, after I had laid them with the tress