From The Wit and Humor of America, edited by Marshall P. Wilder, Volume III, New York and London: Funk and Wagnalls and Company, 1911; p. 418.
THE TREE-TOAD
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
“ ’Scurious-like,” said the tree-toad,
“I’ve twittered fer rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And I hollered till noon —
But the sun, hit blazed away,
Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
Weary at heart, and sick at soul!
“Dozed away fer an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin;
And I sung, and sung,
Till I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
And then, thinks I, ef hit don’t rain now,
There ’re nothing’ in singin’, anyhow!
“Once in awhile some farmer
Would come a-drivin’ past;
And he’d hear my cry,
And stop and sigh —
Till I jest laid back, at last,
And I hollered rain till I thought my th’oat
Would bust right open at ever’ note!
“But I fetched her! O I fetched her! —
’Cause a while ago,
As I kindo’ set,
With one eye shet,
And a-singin’ soft and low,
A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,
Sayin’, — ‘Ef you’ll jest hush I’ll rain!’ ”