Rhymes of childhood
James Whitcomb Riley
Paperback
(RareBooksClub.com, May 18, 2012)
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1892 Excerpt: ...at his very best. Turn to the brook where the honeysuckle tipping O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze, And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping From the fairy-flagons of the blooming locust trees. Turn to the lane where we used to "teeter-totter," Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mould--Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups of gold. Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel Of the sunny sand-bar in the middle tide, And the ghostly dragonfly pauses in his travel To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died. Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger! Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger Back to the lotus-lands of the far-away! 94 JOHN TARKINGTON JAMESON. JOHN TARKINGTON JAMESON. JOHN JAMESON, ray jo John! Ye're bonnie wee an' sma'; Your ee's the morning violet, Wi' tremblin' dew an' a'; Your smile's the gowden simmer-sheen, Wi' glint in' pearls aglow Atween the posies o' your lips, John Jameson, my jo! Ye hae the faither's braidth o' brow, An' synes his look benign Whiles he hings musin' ower the burne, Wi' leestless hook an' line; Ye hae the mither's mou' an' cheek, An' denty chin--but O! It's maist ye're like your ain braw sel', John Jameson, my jo! John Jameson, my jo John, Though, wi' sic luvers twain, Ye dance far yont your whustlin' frien' Wha laggart walks his lane,--Be mindet, though he naps his last Whaur kirkyird thistles grow, His ghaist shall caper on wi' you, John Jameson, my jo! DWAINIE. 95 DWAINIE--A SPRITE SONG. ODwainie! MyDwainie! The Lurloo ever sings, A tremor in his flossy crest And in his glossy wings: And Dwainie! My Dwainie! The Winnowelvers call, But Dwaini...