James Whitcomb Riley
~The Hoosier Poet~
Born October 7, 1849; died July 22, 1916
Out to Old Aunt Mary's
Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine,
In those old days of the lost sunshine
Of youth--when the Saturday's chores were through,
And the "Sundays' wood" in the kitchen, too,
And we went visiting, "me and you,"
Out to Old Aunt Mary's?
It all comes back so clear today!
Though I am as bald as you are gray--
Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane,
We patter along in the dust again,
As light as the tips of the drops of the rain,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
We cross the pasture, and through the wood
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood,
Where the hammering red-heads hopped awry,
And the buzzard "raised" in the clearing sky,
And lolled and circled, as we went by,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
The few last houses of the town;
Then on, up the high creek-bluffs and down;
Past the squat toll-gate, with it's
well-sweep pole,
The bridge, and "the old 'babtizin'-hole,'"
Loitering, awed, o'er pool and shoal,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And then in the dust of the road again;
And the teams we met, and the countrymen;
And the long highway, with sunshine spread
As thick as butter on country bread,
Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Why, I see her now in the open door,
Where the little gourds grew up the sides, and o'er
The clapboard roof!--And her face--ah, me!
Wasn't it good for a boy to see-
And wasn't it good for a boy to be
Out to Old Aunt Mary's?
The jelly--the jam and the marmalade,
And the cherry and quince "preserves" she made!
And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear,
With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare!--
And the more we ate was the more to spare,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
Ah! was there, ever, so kind a face
And gentle as hers, or such a grace
Of welcoming, as she cut the cake
Or the juicy pies that she joyed to make
Just for the visiting children's sake--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
The honey, too, in its amber comb
One only finds in an old farm-home;
And the coffee, fragrant and sweet, and ho!
So hot that we gloried to drink it so,
With spangles of tears in our eyes you know--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And the romps we took, in our glad unrest!--
Was it the lawn that we loved the best,
With its swooping swing in the locust trees,
Or was it the grove, with its leafy breeze,
Or the dim haymow, with its fragrancies--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Far fields, bottom-lands, creek-banks--all,
We ranged at will.--Where the waterfall
Laughed all day as it slowly poured
Over the dam by the old mill-ford,
While the tail-race writhed, and the
mill-wheel roared--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
But home, with Aunty in nearer call,
That was the best place, after all!--
The talks on the back porch, in the low
Slanting sun and the evening glow,
With the voice of counsel that
touched us so,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And then, in the garden--near the side
Where the beehives were
and the path was wide,--
The apple-house--like a fairy cell--
With the little square door we knew so well,
And the wealth inside but our
tongues could tell--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And the old spring-house, in the cool green gloom
Of the willow trees,--and the cooler room
Where the swinging shelves and the
crocks were kept,
Where the cream in a golden languor slept,
While the waters gurgled and
laughed and wept--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And as many a time have you and I--
Barefoot boys in the days gone by--
Knelt, and in tremulous ecstasies
Dipped our lips into sweets like these,--
Memory now is on her knees
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.--
For, O my brother so far away,
This is to tell you--she waits today
To welcome us:--Aunt Mary fell
Asleep this morning, whispering,
"Tell
The boys to come,"…
And all is well
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Note: This poem wraps up for me memories from my own
childhood, and dreams of what I had hoped my "grown-up" life would be;
I longed to be like "Old Aunt Mary" to someone.
Further Note: Some stanzas have been eliminated to make the
poem more "friendly" for the modern reader.
