Love-Lyrics & Songs Of Home: "Think of him still as the same, I say. He is not dead—he is just away.”

By James Whitcomb Riley

Poet and author James Whitcomb Riley was born on October 7th 1849 in Greenfield, Indiana. Better known as the “Hoosier Poet” for his work with regional dialects, and also as the “Children’s Poet” Riley was born into an influential and well off family. However his education was spotty but he was surrounded by creativity which was to stand him in good stead later in life. His early career was a series of low paid temporary jobs. After stints as a journalist and billboard proprietor he had the resources to dedicate more of his efforts to writing. Riley was prone to drink which was to affect his health and later his career but after a slow start and a lot of submissions he began to gain traction first in newspapers and then with the publication of his dialect poems ‘Boone County Poems’ he came to national recognition. This propelled him to long term contracts to perform on speaking circuits. These were very successful but over the years his star waned. In 1888 he was too drunk to perform and the ensuing publicity made everything seem very bleak for a while. However he overcame that and managed to re-negotiate his contracts so that he received his rightful share of the income and his wealth thereafter increased very quickly. A bachelor, Riley seems to have his writings as his only outlet, and although in his public performances he was well received, his publications were becoming seen as banal and repetitive and sales of these later works began to fall away. Eventually after his last tour in 1895 he retired to spend his final years in Indianapolis writing patriotic poetry. Now in poor health, weakened by years of heavy drinking, Riley, the Hoosier Poet died on July 23, 1916 of a stroke. In a final, unusual tribute, Riley lay in state for a day in the Indiana Statehouse, where thousands came to pay their respects. Not since Lincoln had a public personage received such a send-off. He is buried at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis. Here we present Riley Love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Copyright Group
• Release date: Oct 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781785430121

Book preview

Love-Lyrics & Songs Of Home by James Whitcomb Riley

Poet and author James Whitcomb Riley was born on October 7th 1849 in Greenfield, Indiana. Better known as the Hoosier Poet for his work with regional dialects, and also as the Children’s Poet Riley was born into an influential and well off family.

However his education was spotty but he was surrounded by creativity which was to stand him in good stead later in life.

His early career was a series of low paid temporary jobs.  After stints as a journalist and billboard proprietor he had the resources to dedicate more of his efforts to writing.

Riley was prone to drink which was to affect his health and later his career but after a slow start and a lot of submissions he began to gain traction first in newspapers and then with the publication of his dialect poems ‘Boone County Poems’ he came to national recognition.  This propelled him to long term contracts to perform on speaking circuits. These were very successful but over the years his star waned.

In 1888 he was too drunk to perform and the ensuing publicity made everything seem very bleak for a while. However he overcame that and managed to re-negotiate his contracts so that he received his rightful share of the income and his wealth thereafter increased very quickly.

A bachelor, Riley seems to have his writings as his only outlet, and although in his public performances he was well received, his publications were becoming seen as banal and repetitive and sales of these later works began to fall away.

Eventually after his last tour in 1895 he retired to spend his final years in Indianapolis writing patriotic poetry.

Now in poor health, weakened by years of heavy drinking, Riley, the Hoosier Poet died on July 23, 1916 of a stroke. In a final, unusual tribute, Riley lay in state for a day in the Indiana Statehouse, where thousands came to pay their respects. Not since Lincoln had a public personage received such a send-off. He is buried at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis.

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.

Index OF Poems

LOVE LYRICS

AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG

A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR

AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO

THE PASSING OF A HEART

DREAM

HE CALLED HER IN

HER FACE AND BROW

HER BEAUTIFUL EYES

WHEN SHE COMES HOME

LET US FORGET

LEONAINIE

HER WAITING FACE

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW

THEIR SWEET SORROW

JUDITH

HE AND I

THE LOST PATH

MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE

HOW IT HAPPENED

WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE

NOTHIN' TO SAY

IKE WALTON'S PRAYER

ILLILEO

THE WIFE-BLESSÉD

MY MARY

HOME AT NIGHT

WHEN LIDE MARRIED HIM

HER HAIR

LAST NIGHT - AND THIS

A DISCOURAGING MODEL

SUSPENSE

THE RIVAL

TOM VAN ARDEN

TO HEAR HER SING

A VARIATION

WHERE SHALL WE LAND?

THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS

FARMER WHIPPLE - BACHELOR

THE ROSE

WHEN AGE COMES ON

HAS SHE FORGOTTEN?

BLOOMS OF MAY

THE SERMON OF THE ROSE

SONGS OF HOME

WE MUST GET HOME

JUST TO BE GOOD

MY FRIEND

THINKIN' BACK

NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE SMILE

HIS ROOM

THE PLAINT HUMAN

THE QUEST

THE MULBERRY TREE

FOR YOU

A FEEL IN THE CHRIS'MAS-AIR

AS CREATED

WHERE-AWAY

DREAMER, SAY

OUR OWN

THE OLD TRUNDLE-BED

WHO BIDES HIS TIME

NATURAL PERVERSITIES

A SCRAWL

WRITIN' BACK TO THE HOME-FOLKS

LAUGHTER HOLDING BOTH HIS SIDES

THE SONG OF YESTERDAY

SONG OF PARTING

OUR KIND OF A MAN

HOW DID YOU REST, LAST NIGHT?

OUT OF THE HITHERWHERE

JACK-IN-THE-BOX

THE BOYS

IT'S GOT TO BE

OUT OF REACH?

A BRAVE REFRAIN

IN THE EVENING

JIM

THE BEST IS GOOD ENOUGH

HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB

AS MY UNCLE USED TO SAY

WE MUST BELIEVE

A GOOD MAN

THE OLD DAYS

A SPRING SONG AND A LATER

KNEELING WITH HERRICK

THE RAINY MORNING

REACH YOUR HAND TO ME

TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN

A BACKWARD LOOK

AT SEA

THE OLD GUITAR

JOHN McKEEN

THROUGH SLEEPY-LAND

THEM OLD CHEERY WORDS

TO THE JUDGE

OUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS

MY DANCIN'-DAYS IS OVER

HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS

James Whitcomb Riley – A Short Biography

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