Riley Child-Rhymes Part 3

WINTER FANCIES

[Ill.u.s.tration: Winter Fancies--t.i.tle]

I

Winter without And warmth within; The winds may shout And the storm begin; The snows may pack At the window pane, And the skies grow black, And the sun remain Hidden away The livelong day-- But here--in here is the warmth of May!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Winter without and warmth within]

II

Swoop your spitefullest Up the flue, Wild Winds--do!

What in the world do I care for you?

O delightfullest Weather of all, Howl and squall, And shake the trees till the last leaves fall!

III

The joy one feels, In an easy chair, c.o.c.king his heels In the dancing air That wreathes the rim of a roaring stove Whose heat loves better than hearts can love, Will not permit The coldest day To drive away The fire in his blood, and the bliss of it!

IV

Then blow, Winds, blow!

And rave and shriek, And snarl and snow Till your breath grows weak-- While here in my room I'm as snugly shut As a glad little worm In the heart of a nut!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Here in my room I'm as snugly shut]

THE RUNAWAY BOY

Wunst I sa.s.sed my Pa, an' he Won't stand that, an' punished me,-- Nen when he was gone that day, I slipped out an' runned away.

I tooked all my copper-cents, An' clumbed over our back fence In the jimpson-weeds 'at growed Ever'where all down the road.

Nen I got out there, an' nen I runned some--an' runned again When I met a man 'at led A big cow 'at shooked her head.

I went down a long, long lane Where was little pigs a-play'n'; An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!"

An' jumped up, an' skeered me too.

Nen I scampered past, an' they Was somebody hollered "Hey!"

An' I ist looked ever'where, An' they was n.o.body there.

I _Want_ to, but I'm 'fraid to try To go back.... An' by-an'-by Somepin' hurts my throat inside-- An' I want my Ma--an' cried.

Nen a grea'-big girl come through Where's a gate, an' telled me who Am I? an' ef I tell where My home's at she'll show me there.

But I couldn't ist but tell What's my _name_; an' she says well, An' she tooked me up an' says _She_ know where I live, she guess.

[Ill.u.s.tration: An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!"]

Nen she telled me hug wite close Round her neck!--an' off she goes Skippin' up the street! An' nen Purty soon I'm home again.

An' my Ma, when she kissed me, Kissed the _big girl_ too, an' _she_ Kissed me--ef I p'omise _sh.o.r.e_ I won't run away no more!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Hug wite close round her neck]

THE LITTLE COAT

Here's his ragged "roundabout"; Turn the pockets inside out: See; his pen-knife, lost to use, Rusted shut with apple-juice; Here, with marbles, top and string, Is his deadly "devil-sling,"

With its rubber, limp at last As the sparrows of the past!

Beeswax--buckles--leather straps-- Bullets, and a box of caps,-- Not a thing of all, I guess, But betrays some waywardness-- E'en these tickets, blue and red, For the Bible-verses said-- Such as this his mem'ry kept-- "Jesus wept."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Little Coat]

Here's a fishing hook-and-line, Tangled up with wire and twine, And dead angle-worms, and some Slugs of lead and chewing-gum, Blent with scents that can but come From the oil of rhodium.

Here--a soiled, yet dainty note, That some little sweetheart wrote, Dotting,--"Vine grows round the stump,"

And--"My sweetest sugar lump!"

Wrapped in this--a padlock key Where he's filed a touch-hole--see!

And some powder in a quill Corked up with a liver pill; And a spongy little chunk Of "punk."

Here's the little coat--but O!

Where is he we've censured so!

Don't you hear us calling, dear?

Back! come back, and never fear.-- You may wander where you will, Over orchard, field and hill; You may kill the birds, or do Anything that pleases you!

Ah, this empty coat of his!

Every tatter worth a kiss; Every stain as pure instead As the white stars overhead: And the pockets--homes were they Of the little hands that play Now no more--but, absent, thus Beckon us.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Little Coat--Tailpiece]

AN IMPETUOUS RESOLVE

[Ill.u.s.tration: An Impetuous Resolve--t.i.tle]

When little d.i.c.kie Swope's a man, He's go' to be a Sailor; An' little Hamey Tincher, he's A-go' to be a Tailor: Bud Mitch.e.l.l, he's a-go' to be A stylish Carriage-Maker; An' when _I_ grow a grea'-big man, I'm go' to be a Baker!

An' d.i.c.k'll buy his sailor-suit O' Hame; and Hame'll take it An' buy as fine a double-rigg As ever Bud can make it: An' nen all three'll drive roun' fer me An' we'll drive off togevver, A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the road Ferever an' ferever!

[Ill.u.s.tration: I'm go' to be a baker]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the road]