(7 October 1849 - 22 July 1916 / Greenfield, Indiana)

poet James Whitcomb Riley
#68 on top 500 poets

Quotations

  • ''A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
    An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
    Ef you
    Don't
    Watch
    Out!''
    James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916), U.S. poet. Little Orphant Annie (l. 7-12). . . Oxford Book of Children's Verse, The. Iona Opie and Peter Opie, eds. (1973) Oxford University Press.
    43 person liked.
    		13 person did not like.
  • ''Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
    An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,''
    James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916), U.S. poet. Little Orphant Annie (l. 1-2). . . Oxford Book of Children's Verse, The. Iona Opie and Peter Opie, eds. (1973) Oxford University Press.
    53 person liked.
    		8 person did not like.
  • ''the ache here in the throat,
    To know that I so ill deserve the place
    Her arms make for me;''
    James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916), U.S. poet. When She Comes Home (l. 10-12). . . Anthology of American Poetry. George Gesner, ed. (1983) Avenel Books.
    16 person liked.
    		3 person did not like.
  • ''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.''
    James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916), U.S. poet. When the Frost Is on the Punkin (l. 5-8). . . Oxford Book of American Light Verse, The. William Harmon, ed. (1979) Oxford University Press.
    24 person liked.
    		4 person did not like.
  • ''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,''
    James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916), U.S. poet. When the Frost Is on the Punkin (l. 1-2). . . Oxford Book of American Light Verse, The. William Harmon, ed. (1979) Oxford University Press.
    11 person liked.
    		2 person did not like.

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The Ripest Peach

The ripest peach is highest on the tree --
And so her love, beyond the reach of me,
Is dearest in my sight. Sweet breezes, bow
Her heart down to me where I worship now!

She looms aloft where every eye may see
The ripest peach is highest on the tree.
Such fruitage as her love I know, alas!
I may not reach here from the orchard grass.

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