(From a Westerner's Point of View.) <br /> <br />No matter what you call it, <br />Whether genius, or art, <br />He sings the simple songs that come <br />The closest to your heart. <br />Fur trim an' skillful phrases, <br />I do not keer a jot; <br />'Tain't the words alone, but feelin's, <br />That tech the tender spot. <br />An' that's jest why I love him,-- <br />Why, he's got sech human feelin', <br />An' in ev'ry song he gives us, <br />You kin see it creepin', stealin', <br />Through the core the tears go tricklin', <br />But the edge is bright an' smiley; <br />I never saw a poet <br />Like that poet Whitcomb Riley. <br /> <br />His heart keeps beatin' time with our'n <br />In measures fast or slow; <br />He tells us jest the same ol' things <br />Our souls have learned to know. <br />He paints our joys an' sorrers <br />In a way so stric'ly true, <br />That a body can't help knowin' <br />That he has felt them too. <br />If there's a lesson to be taught, <br />He never fears to teach it, <br />An' he puts the food so good an' low <br />That the humblest one kin reach it. <br />Now in our time, when poets rhyme <br />For money, fun, or fashion, <br />'Tis good to hear one voice so clear <br />That thrills with honest passion. <br />So let the others build their songs, <br />An' strive to polish highly,-- <br />There's none of them kin tech the heart <br />Like our own Whitcomb Riley.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/james-whitcomb-riley/
