The Poetry Corner

In The Afternoon

By James Whitcomb Riley

You in the hammock; and I, near by, Was trying to read, and to swing you, too; And the green of the sward was so kind to the eye, And the shade of the maples so cool and blue, That often I looked from the book to you To say as much, with a sigh. You in the hammock. The book we'd brought From the parlor - to read in the open air, - Something of love and of Launcelot And Guinevere, I believe, was there - But the afternoon, it was far more fair Than the poem was, I thought. You in the hammock; and on and on. I droned and droned through the rhythmic stuff - But, with always a half of my vision gone Over the top of the page - enough To caressingly gaze at you, swathed in the fluff Of your hair and your odorous "lawn." You in the hammock - and that was a year - Fully a year ago, I guess - And what do we care for their Guinevere And her Launcelot and their lordliness! - You in the hammock still, and - Yes - Kiss me again, my dear!