Part 176 (1/2)
Why certainly so!-- It might be a dimple turned over, you know!
”And the Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee, Gee!
Whizz!
What a pity that is!
And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be.
So whenever he wants to go North he goes South, And comes back with porridge crumbs all round his mouth, And he brushes them off with a j.a.panese fan, Whing!
Whann!
What a marvellous man!
What a very remarkably marvellous man!
”And the Man in the Moon,” sighed the Raggedy Man, ”Gits!
So!
Sullonesome, you know!
Up there by himself since creation began!-- That when I call on him and then come away, He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay,-- Till--well, if it wasn't for _Jimmy-c.u.m-Jim_, Dadd!
Limb!
I'd go pardners with him!
Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him!”
_James Whitcomb Riley._
THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG
Out on the margin of moons.h.i.+ne 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 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.
Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!
Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, 'Tis a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings, And bridal jewels of fangs and stings, And she sits and as sadly and softly sings As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings; Tickle me, dear; tickle me here; Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.
_James Whitcomb Riley._
THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO
I
On the Coast of Coromandel Where the early pumpkins blow, In the middle of the woods Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Two old chairs, and half a candle, One old jug without a handle,-- These were all his worldly goods: In the middle of the woods, These were all the worldly goods Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
II
Once, among the Bong-trees walking Where the early pumpkins blow, To a little heap of stones Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There he heard a Lady talking, To some milk-white Hens of Dorking, ”'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones!
On that little heap of stones Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!”
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.