Riley Songs of Home

by James Whitcomb Riley

I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away;

I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and gray;

And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clickt the icy hours in two—

And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you!

We set thare by the smoke-house—me and you out thare alone—

Me a-thinkin'—you a-talkin' in a soothin' undertone—

You a-talkin'—me a-thinkin' of the summers long ago,

And a-writin' "Marthy—Marthy" with my finger in the snow!

William Leachman, I can see you jest as plane as I could then;