Poem Lake | Page 2 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

Dwainie Ay, dwainie!—my Dwainie! The lurloo ever sings, A tremor in his flossy crest And in his glossy wings. And Dwainie!—My Dwainie! The winno-welvers call;— But Dwainie hides in Spirkland And answers not at all. The... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	Honey Dripping from the Comb How slight a thing may set one’s fancy drifting Upon the dead sea of the Past!—A view— Sometimes an odor—or a rooster lifting A far-off “Ooh! ooh-ooh!” And suddenly we find ourselves astray In some wood’s-pasture of the Long Ago,— Or idly... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	Longfellow The winds have talked with him confidingly; The trees have whispered to him; and the night Hath held him gently as a mother might, And taught him all sad tones of melody; The mountains have bowed to him; and the sea, In clamorous waves, and murmurs... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	Love's Prayer Dear lord! kind Lord! Gracious Lord! I pray Thou wilt look on all I love, Tenderly to-day! Weed their hearts of weariness; Scatter every care, Down a wake of angel wings Winnowing the air. Bring unto the sorrowing... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley
A Life-Lesson There! little girl, don’t cry! They have broken your doll, I know; And your tea-set blue, And your play-house, too, Are things of the long ago; But childish troubles will soon pass by.— There! little girl, don’t... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	The Man in the Moon Said the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon, “My! Sakes! What a lot o’ mistakes Some little folks makes on the Man in the Moon! But people that ’s been up to see him like Me, And calls on him frequent and intimutly, ... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	Little Orphant Annie Little Orphant Annie ’s come to our house to stay, An’ wash the cups and saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away, An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep, An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep; An’ all us... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	The Days Gone by O The DAYS gone by! O the days gone by! The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye; The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale; When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley
Honey Dripping from the Comb How slight a thing may set one’s fancy drifting Upon the dead sea of the Past!—A view— Sometimes an odor—or a rooster lifting A far-off “Ooh! ooh-ooh!” And suddenly we find ourselves astray In some wood’s-pasture of the Long Ago,— Or idly... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	An Old Sweetheart of Mine As one who cons at evening o’er an album all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of fancy, till in shadowy design I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. The lamplight seems to glimmer with a... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley