Riley Child-Rhymes | Page 8

sweetest roundelay,?What is sweeter, after all,?Than black haws, in early Fall--?Fruit so sweet the frost first sat,?Dainty-toothed, and nibbled at!?And will any poet sing?Of a lusher, richer thing?Than a ripe May-apple, rolled?Like a pulpy lump of gold?Under thumb and finger-tips,?And poured molten through the lips??Go, ye bards of classic themes,?Pipe your songs by classic streams!?I would twang the redbird's wings?In the thicket while he sings!
THE CIRCUS-DAY PARADE
Oh, the Circus-Day parade! How the bugles played and played! And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes, and neighed, As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer's time?Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sublime!
How the grand band-wagon shone with a splendor all its own, And glittered with a glory that our dreams had never known! And how the boys behind, high and low of every kind,?Marched in unconscious capture, with a rapture undefined!
How the horsemen, two and two, with their plumes of white and blue, And crimson, gold and purple, nodding by at me and you.?Waved the banners that they bore, as the Knights in days of yore, Till our glad eyes gleamed and glistened like the spangles that they wore!
[Illustration: The Circus-Day Parade]
How the graceless-graceful stride of the elephant was eyed, And the capers of the little horse that cantered at his side! How the shambling camels, tame to the plaudits of their fame, With listless eyes came silent, masticating as they came.
[Illustration: How the cages jolted past]
How the cages jolted past, with each wagon battened fast,?And the mystery within it only hinted of at last?From the little grated square in the rear, and nosing there The snout of some strange animal that sniffed the outer air!
And, last of all, The Clown, making mirth for all the town, With his lips curved ever upward and his eyebrows ever down, And his chief attention paid to the little mule that played A tattoo on the dashboard with his heels, in the parade.
Oh! the Circus-Day parade! How the bugles played and played! And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes and neighed. As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer's time?Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sublime!
[Illustration: And, last of all, the clown]
THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG
[Illustration: The Lugubrious Whing-Whang--Title]
The rhyme o' The Raggedy Man's 'at's best?Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs,--?'Cause that-un's the strangest of all o' the rest,?An' the worst to learn, an' the last one guessed,?An' the funniest one, an' the foolishest.--?Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
I don't know what in the world it means--?Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!--?An' nen when I tell him I don't, he leans?Like he was a-grindin' on some machines?An' says: Ef I don't_, w'y, I don't know _beans!?Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!--
Out on the margin of Moonshine Land,?Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!?Out where the Whing-Whang loves to stand,?Writing his name with his tail in the sand,?And swiping it out with his oogerish hand;?Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
Is it the gibber of Gungs or Keeks??Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!?Or what is the sound that the Whing-Whang seeks?--?Crouching low by the winding creeks?And holding his breath for weeks and weeks!?Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!?Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!?'Tis a fair Whing-Whangess, with phosphor rings?And bridal-jewels of fangs and stings;?And she sits and as sadly and softly sings?As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings,--?Tickle me, Dear,
Tickle me here,?Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
WAITIN' FER THE CAT TO DIE
[Illustration: Waitin' Fer The Cat to Die--Title]
Lawzy! don't I rickollect?That-'air old swing in the lane!?Right and proper, I expect,?Old times can't come back again;?But I want to state, ef they?Could come back, and I could say?What my pick 'ud be, i jing!?I'd say, Gimme the old swing?'Nunder the old locus'-trees?On the old place, ef you please!--?Danglin' there with half-shet eye,?Waitin' fer the cat to die!
I'd say, Gimme the old gang?Of barefooted, hungry, lean,?Ornry boys you want to hang?When you're growed up twic't as mean!?The old gyarden-patch, the old?Truants, and the stuff we stol'd!?The old stompin'-groun', where we?Wore the grass off, wild and free?As the swoop of the old swing,?Where we ust to climb and cling,?And twist roun', and fight, and lie--?Waitin' fer the cat to die!
'Pears like I 'most allus could?Swing the highest of the crowd--?Jes sail up there tel I stood?Downside-up, and screech out loud,--?Ketch my breath, and jes drap back?Fer to let the old swing slack,?Yit my tow-head dippin' still?In the green boughs, and the chill?Up my backbone taperin' down,?With my shadder on the ground'?Slow and slower trailin' by--?Waitin' fer the cat to die!
[Illustration: Barefooted, hungry, lean, ornry boys]
Now my daughter's little Jane's?Got a kind o' baby-swing?On the porch, so's when it rains?She kin play there--little