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James Whitcomb Riley - Romancin`
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I` b`en a-kindo musin`, as the feller says, and I`m
  About o` the conclusion that they ain`t no better time,
  When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used to know
  When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto solem`-like and low!

  You git my idy, do you?--_Little_ tads, you understand--
  Jes` a wishin` thue and thue you that you on`y was a _man_.--
  Yit here I am, this minute, even forty, to a day,
  And fergittin` all that`s in it, wishin` jes` the other way!

  I hain`t no hand to lectur` on the times, er dimonstrate
  Whur the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,--
  But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,
  And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!--

  I jes` gee-haw the hosses, and unhook the swingle-tree,
  Whur the hazel-bushes tosses down their shadders over me,
  And I draw my plug o` navy, and I climb the fence, and set
  Jes` a-thinkin` here, `y gravy! till my eyes is wringin`-wet!

  Tho` I still kin see the trouble o` the _present_, I kin see--
  Kindo like my sight was double--all the things that _used to be_;
  And the flutter o` the robin, and the teeter o` the wren
  Sets the willer branches bobbin "howdy-do" thum Now to Then!

  The deadnin` and the thicket`s jes` a bilin` full of June,
  Thum the rattle o` the cricket, to the yallar-hammer`s tune;
  And the catbird in the bottom, and the sap-suck on the snag,
  Seems ef they cain`t--od-rot`em!--jes` do nothin` else but brag!

  They`s music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,
  And that sassy little critter jes` a-peckin` all the day;
  They`s music in the "flicker," and they`s music in the thrush,
  And they`s music in the snicker o` the chipmunk in the brush!

  They`s music _all around_ me!--And I go back, in a dream--
  Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep--and in the stream
  That used to split the medder whur the dandylions growed,
  I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.

  Then`s when I` b`en a-fishin`!--and they`s other fellers, too,
  With their hickry poles a-swishin` out behind `em; and a few
  Little "shiners" on our stringers, with their tails tiptoein` bloom,
  As we dance `em in our fingers all the happy journey home.

  I kin see us, true to Natur`, thum the time we started out
  With a biscuit and a `tater in our little "roundabout!"
  I kin see our lines a-tanglin`, and our elbows in a jam,
  And our naked legs a-danglin` thum the apern of the dam.

  I kin see the honeysuckle climbin` up around the mill;
  And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin` still;
  And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe,
  And jes` git in and row it like the miller used to do.

  W`y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortal plain
  I kin even smell the locus`-blossoms bloomin` in the lane;
  And I hear the cow-bells clinkin` sweeter tunes `n "money musk"
  Far the lightnin`-bugs a-blinkin`and a-dancin`in the dusk.

  And so I keep on musin`, as the feller says, till I`m
  Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain`t no better time,
  When you come to cipher on it, than the _old_ times,--and, I swear,
  I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jes` as soft as any prayer!
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