James Whitcomb Riley

Even Song

Lay away the story,—
Though the theme is sweet,
There’s a lack of something yet,
Leaves it incomplete:—
There’s a nameless yearning—
Strangely undefined—
For a story sweeter still
Than the written kind.
 
Therefore read no longer—
I’ve no heart to hear
But just something you make up,
O my mother dear.—
With your arms around me,
Hold me, folded-eyed,—
Only let your voice go on—
I’ll be satisfied.
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