 AT BROAD RIPPLE by James Whitcomb Reilly Red for LibraVox.org by David Laundra Oh, luxury! Beyond the heat and dust of town, with dangling feet astride the rock below the dam, in the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent save the waterfall. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim, I angle not for lordly game of trout or bass or wary brim. A black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle-eyes are not a thing that I despise. A sunfish, or a chub, or a cat, a silverside, yeah, even that. In eloquent tranquility the water is lisp and talk to me. Sometimes far out the surface breaks as some proud bass and instant shakes his glittering armor in the sun. And romping ripples one by one come dallying across the space where undulates my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, for ever sweet to ear and eye, for ever tenderly begun, for ever new and never done. This lulled and sheltered in a shade where never feverish cares invade. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. At broad ripple by James Whitcombe Riley, read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence. Oh, luxury! Beyond the heat and dust of town, with dangling feet astride the rock below the dam. In the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent save the waterfall. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim, I angle not for lordly game of trout or bass or wary bream. A black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle-eyes are not a thing that I despise. A sunfish, or a chub, or a cat, a silverside, yay even that, an eloquent tranquility the waters lisp and talk to me. Sometimes far out the surface breaks, as some proud bass and instant shakes as glittering armor in the sun, and romping ripples one by one, chem-dallying across the space where undulates my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, forever sweet to ear and eye, forever tenderly begun, forever new and never done. Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade where never feverish cares invade, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. At Broad Ripple by James Withcom Reilly, read for LibriVox.org by Ernst Patinama. Oh, luxury, beyond the heat and dust of town, with dangling feet as dried the rock below the dam, in the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent, save the waterfall. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim. I angle not for lordly game of trout, or bass, or weary brim. A black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle-eyes are not a thing that I despise. A sunfish, or a chub, or a cat, a silverside, yeah, even that. In eloquent tranquility the waters lisp and talk to me. Sometimes far out the surface breaks, as some proud bass an instant shakes his glittering armor in the sun, and romping ripples one by one, come dallying across the space where undulates my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, forever sweet to ear and eye, forever tenderly begun, forever new and never done. Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade, whenever feverish cares invade, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. End of poem. This recording is in a public domain. At Broad Ripple by James Whitcomb Riley, read for LibriVox.org by Glenn Simonson. Oh, luxury, beyond the heat and dust of town, with dangling feet astride the rock below the dam, in the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent save the waterfall. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim, I angle not for lordly game of trout or bass or wary bream. A black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle eyes are not a thing that I despise. A sunfish or a chub or a cat, a silverside, yeah, even that. In eloquent tranquility the waters lisp and talk to me, sometimes far out the surface breaks as some proud bass and instant shakes his glittering armor in the sun, and romping ripples one by one come dallying across the space where undulates my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, forever sweet to ear and eye, forever tenderly begun, forever new and never done, thus lulled and sheltered in a shade, where never feverish cares invade. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. At Broad Ripple by James Wickham Riley Red for LibriVox.org by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina Oh, luxury, beyond the heat and dust of town, with dangling feet astride the rock below the dam, in the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent save the waterfall. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim, I angle not for lordly game of trout or bass or weary brim, a black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle-eyes are not a thing that I despise, a sunfish or a chub or a cat, a silverside, yeah, even that. In eloquent tranquillity the waters lisp and talk to me. Sometimes, far out, the surface breaks as some proud bass, an instant shakes his glittering armor in the sun, and romping ripples one by one come dallying across the space where undulates my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, forever sweet to ear and eye, forever tenderly begun, never new and never done. Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade where never feverish cares invade, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. At Broad Ripple by James Whitcomb Riley, read for LibriVox.org by Nick Number. Oh, luxury, beyond the heat and dust of town, with dangling feet astride the rock below the dam, in the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent save the waterfall, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim, I angle not for lordly game of trout or bass or wary bream, a black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle eyes are not a thing that I despise, a sunfish or a chub or a cat, a silverside, yea, even that. In eloquent tranquillity, the waters lisp and talk to me. Sometimes, far out, the surface breaks as some proud bass and instant shakes his glittering armor in the sun, and romping ripples one by one come dallying across the space where undulates my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, forever sweet to ear and eye, forever tenderly begun, forever new and never done, thus lulled and sheltered in a shade where never feverish cares invade, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. At Broad Ripple, by James Whitcombe Reilly. Read for LibriVox.org by Rose Golding. O Luxury! Beyond the heat and dust of town, with dangling feet astride the rock below the dam, in the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent save the waterfall, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim. I angle not for lordly game of trout or baths or where we brim, a black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle-eyes are not a thing that I despise, a sunfish or a chub or a cat, a silverside, yea, even that. In eloquent tranquillity the waters lisp and talk to me. Sometimes far out the surface breaks, as some proud bass an instant shakes his glittering armour in the sun, and romping ripples one by one come dallying across the space where undulates my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, forever sweet to ear and I, forever tenderly begun, forever new and never done. Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade where never feverish cares invade, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Rock below the dam, in the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent save the waterfall. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim. I angle not for lordly game of trout or baths or where we brim, a black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle eyes are not a thing that I despise. A sunfish or a chub or a cat, a silverside, yay even that. In eloquent tranquillity the waters lisp and talk to me. Sometimes far out the surface breaks as some proud bass and instant shakes his glittering armour in the sun, and romping ripples one by one come dallying across the space where undulates my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, forever sweet to ear and eye, forever tenderly begun, forever new and never done. Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade where never feverish cares invade, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. At Broad Ribble by James Wittcombe Reilly. Red for LibriVox.org by Victoria Grace. Oh luxury! Beyond the heat and dust of town, with dangling feet astride the rock below the dam, in the cool shadows where the calm rests on the stream again, and all is silent save the waterfall, I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. No high ambition can I claim, I angle not for lordly game, of trout or bass or wary brine, a black perch reaches the extreme of my desires, and goggle eyes are not a thing that I despise. A sunfish or a chub or a cat, a silverside, yay even that! In eloquent tranquility the waters lisp and talk to me. Sometimes far out the surface breaks, as some proud bass and instant shakes, his glittering armor in the sun, and romping ripples one by one, come dallying across the space where undulate my smiling face. The river's story flowing by, forever sweet to ear and eye, forever tenderly begun, forever new and never done, thus lulled and sheltered in a shade where never feverish cares evade. I bait my hook and cast my line, and feel the best of life is mine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.