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POEMS BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups an’ 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 other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ’at Annie tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns ’at gits you
        Ef you
            Don’t
                Watch
                    Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,—­
An’ when he went to bed at night, away upstairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all! 
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’ wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout:—­
An’ the Gobble-uns ’ll git you
        Ef you
            Don’t
                Watch
                    Out!

An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;
An’ wunst, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks wuz there,
She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em, an’ said she didn’t care! 
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ’fore she knowed what she’s about! 
An’ the Gobble-uns ’ll git you
        Ef you
            Don’t
                Watch
                    Out!

An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo! 
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,—­
You better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ help the pore an’ needy ones ’at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns’ll git you
        Ef you
            Don’t
                Watch
                    Out!

THE BROOK-SONG

Little brook!  Little brook! 
You have such a happy look—­
Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and
curve and crook—­
And your ripples, one and one,
Reach each other’s hands and run
Like laughing little children in the sun!

  Little brook, sing to me: 
  Sing about a bumblebee
That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled
     mumblingly,
  Because he wet the film
  Of his wings, and had to swim,
While the water-bugs raced round and laughed
     at him!