Green Fields and Running Brooks

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Title: Green Fields and Running Brooks, and Other Poems
Author: James Whitcomb Riley
Release Date: February 16, 2005 [EBook #15079]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
? START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREEN FIELDS ***
Produced by Al Haines
GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1893
BY JAMES W. RILEY
TO MY SISTERS
ELVA AND MARY
CONTENTS.
PROEM
Artemus of Michigan, The?As My Uncle Used to Say?At Utter Loaf?August?Autumn
Bedouin?Being His Mother?Blind?Blossoms on the Trees, The?By Any Other Name?By Her White Bed
Chant of the Cross-Bearing Child, The?Country Pathway, A?Cup of Tea, A?Curse of the Wandering Foot, The?Cyclone, The
Dan Paine?Dawn, Noon and Dewfall?Discouraging Model, A?Ditty of No Tone, A?Don Piatt of Mac-o-chee?Dot Leedle Boy?Dream of Autumn, A
Elizabeth?Envoy
Farmer Whipple--Bachelor?Full Harvest, A
Glimpse of Pan, A?Go, Winter
Her Beautiful Eyes?Hereafter, The?His Mother's Way?His Vigil?Home at Night?Home-Going, The?Hoodoo, The?Hoosier Folk-Child, The?How John Quit the Farm
Iron Horse, The?Iry and Billy and Jo
Jack the Giant-Killer?Jap Miller?John Alden and Percilly?John Brown?John McKeen?Judith?June at Woodruff?Just to Be Good
Last Night--And This?Let Us Forget?Little Fat Doctor, The?Longfellow?Lounger, A
Monument for the Soldiers, A?Mr. What's-His-Name?My Friend
Nessmuk?North and South
Old Retired Sea Captain, The?Old Winters on the Farm?Old Year and the New, The?On the Banks o' Deer Crick?Out of Nazareth
Passing of A Heart, The?Plaint Human, The
Quarrel, The?Quiet Lodger, The
Reach Your Hand to Me?Right Here at Home?Rival, The?Rivals, The; or the Showman's Ruse?Robert Burns Wilson?Rose, The
September Dark?Shoemaker, The?Singer, The?Sister Jones's Confession?Sleep?Some Scattering Remarks of Bub's?Song of Long Ago, A?Southern Singer, A?Suspense
Thanksgiving?Their Sweet Sorrow?Them Flowers?To an Importunate Ghost?To Hear Her Sing?Tom Van Arden?To the Serenader?Tugg Martin?Twins, The
Wandering Jew, The?Watches of the Night, The?Water Color, A?We to Sigh Instead of Sing?What Chris'mas Fetched the Wigginses?When Age Comes On?Where-Away?While the Musician Played?Wife-Blessed, The?Wraith of Summertime, A
GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS
GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS
Ho! green fields and running brooks!?Knotted strings and fishing-hooks?Of the truant, stealing down?Weedy backways of the town.
Where the sunshine overlooks,?By green fields and running brooks,?All intruding guests of chance?With a golden tolerance,
Cooing doves, or pensive pair?Of picnickers, straying there--?By green fields and running brooks,?Sylvan shades and mossy nooks!
And--O Dreamer of the Days,?Murmurer of roundelays?All unsung of words or books,?Sing green fields and running brooks!
A COUNTRY PATHWAY.
I come upon it suddenly, alone--?A little pathway winding in the weeds?That fringe the roadside; and with dreams my own,?I wander as it leads.
Full wistfully along the slender way,?Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine,?I take the path that leads me as it may--?Its every choice is mine.
A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail,?Is startled by my step as on I fare--?A garter-snake across the dusty trail?Glances and--is not there.
Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos?And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies,?Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose?When autumn winds arise.
The trail dips--dwindles--broadens then, and lifts?Itself astride a cross-road dubiously,?And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts?Still onward, beckoning me.
And though it needs must lure me mile on mile?Out of the public highway, still I go,?My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file,?Allure me even so.
Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went?At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars,?And was not found again, though Heaven lent?His mother ail the stars
With which to seek him through that awful night.?O years of nights as vain!--Stars never rise?But well might miss their glitter in the light?Of tears in mother-eyes!
So--on, with quickened breaths, I follow still--?My avant-courier must be obeyed!?Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will,?Invites me to invade
A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide?Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile,?And stumbles down again, the other side,?To gambol there awhile
In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead?I see it running, while the clover-stalks?Shake rosy fists at me, as though they said--?"You dog our country-walks
And mutilate us with your walking-stick!--?We will not suffer tamely what you do?And warn you at your peril,--for we'll sic?Our bumble-bees on you!"
But I smile back, in airy nonchalance,--?The more determined on my wayward quest,?As some bright memory a moment dawns?A morning in my breast--
Sending a thrill that hurries me along?In faulty similes of childish skips,?Enthused with lithe contortions of a song?Performing on my lips.
In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth--?Erratic wanderings through dead'ning-lands,?Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth,?Put berries in my hands:
Or, the path climbs a boulder--wades a slough--?Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags,?Goes gaily dancing o'er a deep bayou?On old tree-trunks and snags:
Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool?Upon a bridge the stream itself has made,?With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool?That its foundation laid.
I pause a moment here to bend and muse,?With dreamy eyes, on my