James Whitcomb Riley
First Lines
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,
Has she forgotten? On this very May
I so loved once, when Death came by I hid
I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week
In youth he wrought, with eyes ablur,
It tossed its head at the wooing breeze;
It's the curiousest thing in creation,
Last night -- how deep the darkness was!
O hear her sing -- to hear her sing
The beauty of her hair bewilders me --
The touches of her hands are like the fall
When chirping crickets fainter cry,
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