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He Called Her In

By James Whitcomb Riley

Topics: classic

I     He called her in from me and shut the door.     And she so loved the sunshine and the sky! -     She loved them even better yet than I     That ne'er knew dearth of them - my mother dead,     Nature had nursed me in her lap instead:     And I had grown a dark and eerie child     That rarely smiled,     Save when, shut all alone in grasses high,     Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky     And coaxing Mother to smile back on me.     'Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly     Came to me, nestled in the fields beside     A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide -     The sunshine beating in upon the floor     Like golden rain. -     O sweet, sweet face above me, turn again     And leave me! I had cried, but that an ache     Within my throat so gripped it I could make     No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so,     I felt her light hand laid     Upon my hair - a touch that ne'er before     Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid -     It seemed the touch the children used to know     When Christ was here, so dear it was - so dear, -     At once I loved her as the leaves love dew     In midmost summer when the days are new.     Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl     Of silken sunshine did she clip for me     Out of the bright May-morning of her hair,     And bound and gave it to me laughingly,     And caught my hands and called me "Little girl,"     Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there!     And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress     Of my great happiness.     She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean     The raiment - drew me with her everywhere:     Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green:     Put up her dainty hands and peeped between     Her fingers at the blossoms - crooned and talked     To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked, -     Said this one was her angel mother - this,     Her baby-sister - come back, for a kiss,     Clean from the Good-World! - smiled and kissed them, then     Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again.     And so did she beguile me - so we played, -     She was the dazzling Shine - I, the dark Shade -     And we did mingle like to these, and thus,     Together, made     The perfect summer, pure and glorious.     So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon     Our happiness. - She, startled as a fawn,     Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father!" - all the blossoms gone     From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp. -     Harsher the voice came: - She could only gasp     Affrightedly, "Good-bye! - good-bye! good-bye!"     And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry     Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame     Through soul and frame,     And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er, -     "He called her in from me and shut the door!"     II     He called her in from me and shut the door!     And I went wandering alone again -     So lonely - O so very lonely then,     I thought no little sallow star, alone     In all a world of twilight, e'er had known     Such utter loneliness. But that I wore     Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair     To lighten up the night of my despair,     I think I might have groped into my grave     Nor cared to wave     The ferns above it with a breath of prayer.     And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face     That bent above me in my hiding-place     That day amid the grasses there beside     Her pleasant home! - "Her pleasant home!" I sighed,     Remembering; - then shut my teeth and feigned     The harsh voice calling me, - then clinched my nails     So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained,     And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales     In splendid martyrdom, with soul serene,     As near to God as high the guillotine.     And I had envied her? Not that - O no!     But I had longed for some sweet haven so! -     Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride     Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide     Where those that loved me touched me with their hands,     And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped     Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands     Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped     My yearning face and kissed it satisfied.     Then bitterly I murmured as before, -     "He called her in from me and shut the door!"     III     He called her in from me and shut the door!     After long struggling with my pride and pain -     A weary while it seemed, in which the more     I held myself from her, the greater fain     Was I to look upon her face again; -     At last - at last - half conscious where my feet     Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet     Green grasses there where she     First came to me. -     The very blossoms she had plucked that day,     And, at her father's voice, had cast away,     Around me lay,     Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine;     And as I gathered each one eagerly,     I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine     Her kisses left there for the honey-bee.     Then, after I had laid them with the tress     Of her bright hair with lingering tenderness,     I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound     Her pleasant-seeming home - but all around     Was never sign of her! - The windows all     Were blinded; and I heard no rippling fall     Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call; -     But clutching to the tangled grasses, caught     A sound as though a strong man bowed his head     And sobbed alone - unloved - uncomforted! -     And then straightway before     My tearless eyes, all vividly, was wrought     A vision that is with me evermore: -     A little girl that lies asleep, nor hears     Nor heeds not any voice nor fall of tears. -     And I sit singing o'er and o'er and o'er, -     "God called her in from him and shut the door!"

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Exploring the themes of classic, James Whitcomb Riley delivers a powerful performance in "He Called Her In"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...

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James Whitcomb Riley

About James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley (1849–1916) was an American poet known as the "Hoosier Poet." His dialect poems—including "Little Orphant Annie" and "When the Frost Is on the Punkin"—celebrate rural Indiana life and childhood nostalgia.

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