Armazindy Page #17

James Whitcomb Riley poems book published in the 1894 book Armazindy and received very negative reviews that referred to poems like "The Little Dog-Woggy" and "Jargon-Jingle" as "drivel" and to Riley as a "worn out genius". Most of his growing number of critics suggested that he ignored the quality of the poems for the sake of making money.

• Poetry

								

  An’ ’tend-like he wuz beat the bass
    Drum at both ends—an’ toots an’ blares
  Ole dinner-horn an’ puffs his face—
    The Little Mock-man on the Stairs!

  The Little Mock-man on the Stairs
  Mocks all the peoples all he cares
    ’At passes up an’ down!
  He mocks the chickens round the door,
  An’ mocks the girl ’at scrubs the floor,
  An’ mocks the rich, an’ mocks the pore,
    An’ ever’thing in town!
      “Ho! ho!” says he,
      To you er me;
    An’ ef we turns an’ looks,
      He’s all cross-eyed
      An’ mouth all wide
    Like Giunts is, in books.—
  “Ho! ho!” he yells, “look here at me,”
    An’ rolls his fat eyes roun’ an’ glares,—
  “You look like this!” he says, says he—
    The Little Mock-man on the Stairs!

  The Little Mock—
    The Little Mock—
      The Little Mock-man on the Stairs,
  He mocks the music-box an’ clock,
      An’ roller-sofy an’ the chairs;
    He mocks his Pa, an’ specs he wears;
    He mocks the man ’at picks the pears
  An’ plums an’ peaches on the shares;
  He mocks the monkeys an’ the bears
  On picture-bills, an’ rips an’ tears
  ’Em down,—an’ mocks ist all he cares,
  An’ EVER’body EVER’wheres!

SUMMER-TIME AND WINTER-TIME

  In the golden noon-shine,
    Or in the pink of dawn;
  In the silver moonshine,
    Or when the moon is gone;
  Open eyes, or drowsy lids,
    ’Wake or ’most asleep,
  I can hear the katydids,—
    “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!”

  Only in the winter-time
    Do they ever stop,
  In the chip-and-splinter-time,
    When the backlogs pop,—
  Then it is, the kettle-lids,
    While the sparkles leap,
  Lisp like the katydids,—
    “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!”

HOME-MADE RIDDLES—ALL BUT THE ANSWERS

I

  No one ever saw it
    Till I dug it from the ground;
  I found it when I lost it,
    And lost it when I found:
  I washed it, and dressed it,
    And buried it once more—
  Dug it up, and loved it then
    Better than before.
  I was paid for finding it—
    I don’t know why or how,—
  But I lost, found, and kept it,
    And haven’t got it now.

II

  Sometimes it’s all alone—
    Sometimes in a crowd;
  It says a thousand bright things,
    But never talks aloud.
  Everybody loves it,
    And likes to have it call,
  But if you shouldn’t happen to,
    It wouldn’t care at all.
  First you see or hear of it,
    It’s a-singing,—then
  You may look and listen,
    But it never sings again.

THE LOVELY CHILD

  Lilies are both pure and fair,
  Growing ’midst the roses there—
  Roses, too, both red and pink,
  Are quite beautiful, I think.

  But of all bright blossoms—best—
  Purest—fairest—loveliest,—
  Could there be a sweeter thing
  Than a primrose, blossoming?

THE YELLOWBIRD

  Hey! my little Yellowbird,
    What you doing there?
  Like a flashing sun-ray,
    Flitting everywhere:
  Dangling down the tall weeds
    And the hollyhocks,
  And the lordly sunflowers
    Along the garden-walks.

  Ho! my gallant Golden-bill,
    Pecking ’mongst the weeds,
  You must have for breakfast
    Golden flower-seeds:
  Won’t you tell a little fellow
    What you have for tea?—
  ’Spect a peck o’ yellow, mellow
    Pippin on the tree.

ENVOY

  When but a little boy, it seemed
    My dearest rapture ran
  In fancy ever, when I dreamed
    I was a man—a man!

  Now—sad perversity!—my theme
    Of rarest, purest joy
  Is when, in fancy blest, I dream
    I am a little boy.
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