James Whitcomb Riley

An’ the Gobble-uns ’ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!

O’er folded blooms, On swirls of musk, The beetle booms adown the glooms And bumps along the dusk.

One naked star has waded through The purple shadows of the night, And faltering as falls the dew It drips its misty light.

The ripest peach is highest on the tree.