"Mr. Blue Jay full o' sass, In them base-ball cloes o' hisn."
Notice also the sudden breaks in transition that can be indicated in
"Blue birds' nests tucked up there Conveniently for the boy 'at's apt to be Up some other apple tree."
Notice after "to be" how he suddenly enjoys the birds' cunning and laughs for the moment at the boys' failure. You can accentuate, too, his dramatic feeling for May and "'bominate its promises" with more decision and point.
The "you" in this poem and the frequent imperatives indicate the conception in the author's mind of a speaker and a sympathetic companion out in the fields in June. It certainly detracts from the simplicity, dramatic intensity, naturalness, and spontaneity to make of it a kind of address to an audience. The same is true of the "Liztown Humorist," "Kingsby's Mill," "Joney," and many others which are usually considered and rendered as stories. They are monologues. Possibly a completer title for them would be lyric monologues.
While the interpreter of these monologues can easily turn his auditors into a sympathetic and familiar group who might stand for his listener, he can transport them in imagination to the right situation; and while this is often done by interpreters with good effect, to my mind this does not change their character as monologues.
Granting, however, that some of Riley's poems are more or less speeches, it must be admitted that he has written some definite and formal poems which cannot be so conceived. "Nothin' to Say," for example, is one of the most decided and formal monologues found anywhere. In this the listener
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!-- Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way! Yer mother did afore you, when her folks objected to me-- Yit here I am, and here you air; and yer mother--where is she?
You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in size; And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes: Like her, too, about her _livin_ here,--because _she_ couldn't stay: It'll 'most seem like you was dead--like her!--But I hain't got nothin' to say!
She left you her little Bible--writ yer name acrost the page-- And left her ear-bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age. I've allus kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away-- Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!