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OLE' SWIMMIN' HOLE







Oh! the old swimmin'-hole!
whare the crick so still and deep
Looked like a baby-river
that was laying half asleep,
And the gurgle of the worter
round the drift jest below
Sounded like the laugh of something
we onc't ust to know
Before we could remember anything
but the eyes Of the angels
lookin' out as we left Paradise;
But the merry days of youth
is beyond our controle,
And it's hard to part ferever
with the old swimmin'-hole.

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole!
In the happy days of yore,
When I ust to lean
above it on the old sickamore,
Oh! it showed me a face
in its warm sunny tide
That gazed back at me
so gay and glorified,
It made me love myself,
as I leaped to caress My shadder
smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.

But them days is past and gone,
and old Time's tuck his toll
From the old man
come back to the old swimmin'-hole

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole!
In the long, lazy days
When the humdrum of school
made so many run-a-ways,
How plesant was the jurney
down the old dusty lane,
Whare the tracks of our bare feet
was all printed so plane
You could tell by the dent
of the heel and the sole
They was lots o' fun on hands
at the old swimmin'-hole.
But the lost joys is past!
Let your tears in sorrow roll
Like the rain that ust to
dapple up the old swimmin'-hole.

Thare the bullrushes growed,
and the cattails so tall,
And the sunshine and shadder
fell over it all;
And it mottled the worter
with amber and gold
Tel the glad lilies rocked
in the ripples that rolled;
And the snake-feeder's
four gauzy wings fluttered by
Like the ghost of a daisy
dropped out of the sky,
Or a wownded apple-blossom
in the breeze's controle
As it cut acrost some orchurd
to'rds the old swimmin'-hole.

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole!
When I last saw the place,
The scenes was all changed,
like the change in my face;
The bridge of the railroad
now crosses the spot
Whare the old divin'-log
lays sunk and fergot.
And I stray down the banks
whare the trees ust to be--
But never again
will theyr shade shelter me.
And I wish in my sorrow
I could strip to the soul,
And dive off in my grave
like the old swimmin'-hole.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 1883

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