: Riley Farm-Rhymes by Riley James Whitcomb - Farm life Poetry

@FreeBooksTue 06 Jun, 2023

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BROOK SONG, THE CANARY AT THE FARM, A CLOVER, THE COUNTRY PATHWAY, A GRIGGSBY'S STATION HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM JUNE KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE "MYLO JONES'S WIFE" OLD-FASHIONED ROSES OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME OLD OCTOBER OLD WINTERS ON THE FARM ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO, THE ROMANCIN' SEPTEMBER DARK SONG OF LONG AGO, A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS, A THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER TREE-TOAD, THE UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE WET-WEATHER TALK WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY WORTERMELON TIME

RILEY FARM-RHYMES

THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO

The orchard lands of Long Ago! O drowsy winds, awake, and blow The snowy blossoms back to me, And all the buds that used to be! Blow back along the grassy ways Of truant feet, and lift the haze Of happy summer from the trees That trail their tresses in the seas Of grain that float and overflow The orchard lands of Long Ago!

Blow back the melody that slips In lazy laughter from the lips That marvel much if any kiss Is sweeter than the apple's is. Blow back the twitter of the birds-- The lisp, the titter, and the words Of merriment that found the shine Of summer-time a glorious wine That drenched the leaves that loved it so, In orchard lands of Long Ago!

O memory! alight and sing Where rosy-bellied pippins cling, And golden russets glint and gleam, As, in the old Arabian dream, The fruits of that enchanted tree The glad Aladdin robbed for me! And, drowsy winds, awake and fan My blood as when it overran A heart ripe as the apples grow In orchard lands of Long Ago!

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here-- Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees; But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock-- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill; The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover overhead!-- O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yeller heaps; And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!... I don't know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on ME-- I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock-- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES

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