|
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear- There is ever a song somewhere, my dear- There is ever a song somewhere! There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, In the midnight black, or the midday blue: The robin pipes when the sun is here, And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear: But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear- There is ever a song somewhere, my dear- There is ever a song somewhere! James Whitcomb Riley Out on the margin of Moonshine Land, Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! Out where the Whing-Whang loves to stand, Writing his name with his tail on the sand, And wiping it out with his oogerish hand; Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! Is it the gibber of Gungs and Keeks? Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! Or what is the sound that the Whing-Whang seeks? Crouching low by the winding creeks, And holding his breath for weeks and weeks! Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! |
| Previous page | Table of Contents | Next page |