Afterwhiles. James Whitcomb Riley

PROEM (AKA "Afterwhiles")

       Table of Contents

      Where are they—the Afterwhiles—

       Luring us the lengthening miles

       Of our lives? Where is the dawn

       With the dew across the lawn

       Stroked with eager feet the far

       Way the hills and valleys are?

       Were the sun that smites the frown

       Of the eastward-gazer down?

       Where the rifted wreaths of mist

       O'er us, tinged with amethyst,

       Round the mountain's steep defiles?

       Where are the afterwhiles?

       Afterwhile—and we will go

       Thither, yon, and too and fro—

       From the stifling city streets

       To the country's cool retreats—

       From the riot to the rest

       Were hearts beat the placidest:

       Afterwhile, and we will fall

       Under breezy trees, and loll

       In the shade, with thirsty sight

       Drinking deep the blue delight

       Of the skies that will beguile

       Us as children—afterwhile.

       Afterwhile—and one intends

       To be gentler to his friends—,

       To walk with them, in the hush

       Of still evenings, o'er the plush

       Of home-leading fields, and stand

       Long at parting, hand in hand:

       One, in time, will joy to take

       New resolves for some one's sake,

       And wear then the look that lies

       Clear and pure in other eyes—

       We will soothe and reconcile

       His own conscience—afterwhile.

       Afterwhile—we have in view

       A far scene to journey to—,

       Where the old home is, and where

       The old mother waits us there,

       Peering, as the time grows late,

       Down the old path to the gate—.

       How we'll click the latch that locks

       In the pinks and hollyhocks,

       And leap up the path once more

       Where she waits us at the door—!

       How we'll greet the dear old smile,

       And the warm tears—afterwhile!

       Ah, the endless afterwhiles—!

       Leagues on leagues, and miles on miles,

       In distance far withdrawn,

       Stretching on, and on, and on,

       Till the fancy is footsore

       And faints in the dust before

       The last milestone's granite face,

       Hacked with: Here Beginneth Space.

       O far glimmering worlds and wings,

       Mystic smiles and beckonings,

       Lead us through the shadowy aisles

       Out into the afterwhiles.