Explore "Who Bides his Time" by James Whitcomb Riley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Who bides his time, and day by day / Faces defeat full patiently, / And lifts a mirthful roundelay, / However poor his fortunes be -- , / He will not fail in any qualm / Of poverty -- the paltry dime / It will grow golden in his palm, / Who bides his time.
Who bides his time -- he tastes the sweet / Of honey in the saltest tear; / And though he fares with slowest feet, / Joy runs to meet him, drawing near; / The birds are heralds of his cause; / And like a never-ending rhyme, / The roadsides bloom in his applause, / Who bides his time.
Who bides his time, and fevers not / In the hot race that none achieves, / Shall wear cool-wreathen laurel, wrought / With crimson berries in the leaves; / And he shall reign a goodly king, / And sway his hand o'er every clime, / With peace writ on his signet-ring, / Who bides his time.