Quotes about whitcomb, page 7
Oath to family
Family is the people who
Talks us through everything
Family are the ones who
Listens to what you have to say
Family protects you when
Others try to harm you
Family are the ones to get you through
Better or worse and ask for nothing
Some take what they have
Forgranted and when it dissappears
They wish they hadnt
I thank god everday
For my family
Family is precious and
Something no one should take
Forgranted or advantage of
Thank you father for I
Would be nothing without
My family!
poem by Desserray Whitcomb
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Green Fields And Running Brooks
Ho! green fields and running brooks!
Knotted strings and fishing-hooks
Of the truant, stealing down
Weedy backways of the town.
Where the sunshine overlooks,
By green fields and running brooks,
All intruding guests of chance
With a golden tolerance,
Cooing doves, or pensive pair
Of picnickers, straying there--
By green fields and running brooks,
Sylvan shades and mossy nooks!
And--O Dreamer of the Days,
Murmurer of roundelays
All unsung of words or books,
Sing green fields and running brooks!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Rival
I so loved once, when Death came by I hid
Away my face,
And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid
To make my hiding-place.
The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and
I turned me then
To calm my love -- kiss down her shielding hand
And comfort her again.
And lo! she answered not: and she did sit
All fixedly,
With her fair face and the sweet smile of it,
In love with Death, not me.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Song Of Singing
Sing! gangling lad, along the brink
Of wild brook-ways of shoal and deep,
Where killdees dip, and cattle drink,
And glinting little minnows leap!
Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above
And sets the foot-log quivering!
Sing! bittern, bumble-bee, and dove--
Sing! Sing! Sing!
Sing as you will, O singers all
Who sing because you _want_ to sing!
Sing! peacock on the orchard wall,
Or tree-toad by the trickling spring!
Sing! every bird on every bough--
Sing! every living, loving thing--
Sing any song, and anyhow,
But Sing! Sing! Sing!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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To a Boy Whistling
The smiling face of a happy boy
With its enchanted key
Is now unlocking in memory
My store of heartiest joy.
And my lost life again to-day,
In pleasant colors all aglow,
From rainbow tints, to pure white snow,
Is a panorama sliding away.
The whistled air of a simple tune
Eddies and whirls my thoughts around,
As fairy balloons of thistle-down
Sail through the air of June.
O happy boy with untaught grace!
What is there in the world to give
That can buy one hour of the life you live
Or the trivial cause of your smiling face!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Gratefully And Affectionately Inscribed To Joel Chandler Harris
_You who to the rounded prime_
_Of a life of toil and stress_,
_Still have kept the morning-time_
_Of glad youth in heart and spirit_,
_So your laugh, as children hear it_,
_Seems their own, no less_,--
_Take this book of childish rhyme_--
_The Book of Joyous Children_.
_Their first happiness on earth_
_Here is echoed--their first glee_:
_Rich, in sooth, the volume's worth_--
_Not in classic lore, but rich in_
_The child-sagas of the kitchen_;--
_Therefore, take from me_
_To your heart of childish mirth_
_The Book of Joyous Children_.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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My Friend
'He is my friend,' I said,--
'Be patient!' Overhead
The skies were drear and dim;
And lo! the thought of him
Smited on my heart--and then
The sun shone out again!
'He is my friend!' The words
Brought summer and the birds;
And all my winter-time
Thawed into running rhyme
And rippled into song,
Warm, tender, brave, and strong.
And so it sings to-day.--
So may it sing alway!
Though waving grasses grow
Between, and lilies blow
Their trills of perfume clear
As laughter to the ear,
[...] Read more
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Harper
Like a drift of faded blossoms
Caught in a slanting rain,
His fingers glimpsed down the strings of his harp
In a tremulous refrain:
Patter and tinkle, and drip and drip!
Ah! but the chords were rainy sweet!
And I closed my eyes and I bit my lip,
As he played there in the street.
Patter, and drip, and tinkle!
And there was the little bed
In the corner of the garret,
And the rafters overhead!
And there was the little window --
Tinkle, and drip, and drip!--
The rain above, and a mother's love,
And God's companionship!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Thomas The Pretender
Tommy's alluz playin' jokes,
An' actin' up, an' foolin' folks;
An' wunst one time he creep
In Pa's big chair, he did, one night,
An' squint an' shut his eyes bofe tight,
An' say, 'Now I 'm asleep.'
An' nen we knowed, an' Ma know' too,
He _ain't_ asleep no more 'n you!
An' wunst he clumbed on our back'fence
An' flop his arms an' nen commence
To crow, like he's a hen;
But when he failed off, like he done,
He didn't fool us childern none,
Ner didn't _crow_ again.
An' our Hired Man, as he come by,
Says, 'Tom can't _crow_, but he kin _cry_.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Lounger
He leant against a lamp-post, lost
In some mysterious reverie:
His head was bowed; his arms were crossed;
He yawned, and glanced evasively:
Uncrossed his arms, and slowly put
Them back again, and scratched his side--
Shifted his weight from foot to foot,
And gazed out no-ward, idle-eyed.
Grotesque of form and face and dress,
And picturesque in every way--
A figure that from day to day
Drooped with a limper laziness;
A figure such as artists lean,
In pictures where distress is seen,
Against low hovels where we guess
No happiness has ever been.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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