Public Domain Poetry And Stories - The South Wind And The Sun by James Whitcomb Riley
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The South Wind And The Sun

    By James Whitcomb Riley



        O the South Wind and the Sun
        How each loved the other one -
    Full of fancy - full of folly -
        Full of jollity and fun!
        How they romped and ran about,
        Like two boys when school is out,
    With glowing face, and lisping lip,
        Low laugh, and lifted shout!

        And the South Wind - he was dressed
        With a ribbon round his breast
    That floated, flapped and fluttered
        In a riotous unrest;
        And a drapery of mist,
        From the shoulder and the wrist
    Flowing backward with the motion
        Of the waving hand he kissed.

        And the Sun had on a crown
        Wrought of gilded thistledown,
    And a scarf of velvet vapor,
        And a raveled-rainbow gown;
        And his tinsel-tangled hair,
        Tossed and lost upon the air,
    With glossier and flossier
        Than any anywhere.

        And the South Wind's eyes were two
        Little dancing drops of dew,
    As he puffed his cheeks, and pursed his lips,
        And blew and blew and blew!
        And the Sun's - like diamond-stone,
        Brighter yet than ever known,
    As he knit his brows and held his breath,
        And shone and shone and shone!

        And this pair of merry fays
        Wandered through the summer days;
    Arm-in-arm they went together
        Over heights of morning haze -
        Over slanting slopes of lawn
        They went on and on and on,
    Where the daisies looked like star-tracks
        Trailing up and down the dawn.

        And where'er they found the top
        Of a wheat-stalk droop and lop,
    They chucked it underneath the chin
        And praised the lavish crop,
        Till it lifted with the pride
        Of the heads it grew beside,
    And then the South Wind and the Sun
        Went onward satisfied.

        Over meadow-lands they tripped,
        Where the dandelions dipped
    In crimson foam of clover bloom
        And dripped and dripped and dripped!
        And they clinched the bumble-stings,
        Gauming honey on their wings,
    And bundling them in lily-bells,
        With maudlin murmurings.

        And the humming-bird, that hung
        Like a jewel up among
    The tilted honeysuckle horns,
        They mesmerized and swung
        In the palpitating air,
        Drowsed with odors strange and rare,
    And, with whispered laughter, slipped away,
        And left him hanging there.

        And they braided blades of grass
        Where the truant had to pass;
    And they wriggled through the rushes
        And the reeds of the morass,
        Where they danced, in rapture sweet,
        O'er the leaves that laid a street
    Of undulant mosaic for
        The touches of their feet.

        By the brook with mossy brink,
        Where the cattle came to drink,
    They trilled and piped and whistled
        With the thrush and bobolink,
        Till the kine, in listless pause,
        Switched their tails in mute applause,
    With lifted heads, and dreamy eyes,
        And bubble-dripping jaws.

        And where the melons grew,
        Streaked with yellow, green and blue,
    These jolly sprites went wandering
        Through spangled paths of dew;
        And the melons, here and there,
        They made love to, everywhere,
    Turning their pink souls to crimson
        With caresses fond and fair.

        Over orchard walls they went,
        Where the fruited boughs were bent
    Till they brushed the sward beneath them
        Where the shine and shadow blent;
        And the great green pear they shook
        Till the sallow hue forsook
    Its features, and the gleam of gold
        Laughed out in every look.

        And they stroked the downy cheek
        Of the peach, and smoothed it sleek,
    And flushed it into splendor;
        And, with many an elfish freak,
        Gave the russet's rust a wipe -
        Prankt the rambo with a stripe,
    And the winesap blushed its reddest
        As they spanked the pippins ripe.

        Through the woven ambuscade
        That the twining vines had made,
    They found the grapes, in clusters,
        Drinking up the shine and shade -
        Plumpt, like tiny skins of wine,
        With a vintage so divine
    That the tongue of Fancy tingled
        With the tang of muscadine.

        And the golden-banded bees,
        Droning o'er the flowery leas,
    They bridled, reined, and rode away
        Across the fragrant breeze,
        Till in hollow oak and elm
        They had groomed and stabled them
    In waxen stalls that oozed with dews
        Of rose and lily-stem.

        Where the dusty highway leads,
        High above the wayside weeds,
    They sowed the air with butterflies
        Like blooming flower-seeds,
        Till the dull grasshopper sprung
        Half a man's-height up, and hung
    Tranced in the heat, with whirring wings,
        And sung and sung and sung!

        And they loitered, hand in hand,
        Where the snipe along the sand
    Of the river ran to meet them
        As the ripple meets the land,
        Till the dragonfly, in light
        Gauzy armor, burnished bright,
    Came tilting down the waters
        In a wild, bewildered flight.

        And they heard the kildee's call,
        And afar, the waterfall,
    But the rustle of a falling leaf
        They heard above it all;
        And the trailing willow crept
        Deeper in the tide that swept
    The leafy shallop to the shore,
        And wept and wept and wept!

        And the fairy vessel veered
        From its moorings - tacked and steered
    For the center of the current -
        Sailed away and disappeared:
        And the burthen that it bore
        From the long-enchanted shore -
    "Alas! the South Wind and the Sun!"
        I murmur evermore.

        For the South Wind and the Sun,
        Each so loves the other one,
    For all his jolly folly,
        And frivolity and fun,
        That our love for them they weigh
        As their fickle fancies may,
    And when at last we love them most,
        They laugh and sail away.



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