Where are they?—the friends of my… The clear, laughing eyes looking b… And the warm, chubby fingers my pa… As when we raced over Pink pastures of clover,

I crave, dear Lord, No boundless hoard Of gold and gear, Nor jewels fine, Nor lands, nor kine,

Thou Poet, who, like any lark, Dost whet thy beak and trill From misty morn till murky dark, Nor ever pipe thy fill: Hast thou not, in thy cheery note,

‘O Printerman of sallow face, And look of absent guile, Is it the ’copy’ on your 'case’ That causes you to smile? Or is it some old treasure scrap

A barefoot boy! I mark him at his… For May is here once more, and so… His dusty trousers, rolled half to… And his bare ankles grimy, too, as… Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in…

There is ever a song somewhere, my… There is ever a something sings al… There’s the song of the lark when… And the song of the thrush when th… The sunshine showers across the gr…

Awf’lest boy in this-here town Er anywheres is Elmer Brown! He’ll mock you—yes, an’ strangers,… An’ make a face an’ yell at you,— '_Here’s_ the way _you_ look!'

When we hear Uncle Sidney tell About the long-ago An’ old, old friends he loved so w… When _he_ was young—My-oh!— Us childern all wish _we’d 'a’_ bi…

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of… With a Gainsborough hat, like a b… Tilted up at one side with the jau… And a knot of red roses sown in un… Where the shadows are lost in her…

Ah, Almon Keefer! what a boy you… With your back-tilted hat and care… And open, honest, fresh, fair face… With their all-varying looks of pl… And joyous interest in flower and…

Sence I tuk holt o’ Gibbses’ Chu… And be’n a-handlin’ the concern, I’ve travelled round the grand old… Of Indiany, lots, o’ late—! I’ve canvassed Crawferdsville and…

Alone they walked—their fingers kn… And swaying listlessly as might a… Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the… Of some sun-flooded afternoon of… Within the clover-fields the tickl…

I heard the bells at midnight Ring in the dawning year; And above the clanging chorus Of the song, I seemed to hear A choir of mystic voices

A NEW VERSION BY LEE… WHITCOMB RILEY ‘You are old, Father William, and… All the veins in your body were dr… Yet the end of your nose is red as…

Picnics is fun 'at’s purty hard to… I purt’-nigh ruther go to them tha… I purt’-nigh ruther go to them tha… With our Char_lot_ty to the Trick…