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Paul Laurence Dunbar - James Whitcomb Riley
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(From a Westerner`s Point of View.)

  No matter what you call it,
    Whether genius, or art,
  He sings the simple songs that come
    The closest to your heart.
  Fur trim an` skillful phrases,
    I do not keer a jot;
  `Tain`t the words alone, but feelin`s,
    That tech the tender spot.
  An` that`s jest why I love him,--
    Why, he`s got sech human feelin`,
  An` in ev`ry song he gives us,
    You kin see it creepin`, stealin`,
  Through the core the tears go tricklin`,
    But the edge is bright an` smiley;
  I never saw a poet
    Like that poet Whitcomb Riley.

  His heart keeps beatin` time with our`n
    In measures fast or slow;
  He tells us jest the same ol` things
    Our souls have learned to know.
  He paints our joys an` sorrers
    In a way so stric`ly true,
  That a body can`t help knowin`
    That he has felt them too.
  If there`s a lesson to be taught,
    He never fears to teach it,
  An` he puts the food so good an` low
    That the humblest one kin reach it.
  Now in our time, when poets rhyme
    For money, fun, or fashion,
  `Tis good to hear one voice so clear
    That thrills with honest passion.
  So let the others build their songs,
    An` strive to polish highly,--
  There`s none of them kin tech the heart
    Like our own Whitcomb Riley.
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