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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416701" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mr. What's-His-Name</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They called him Mr. What's-his-name:<br>From where he was, or why he came,<br>Or when, or what he found to do,<br>Nobody in the city knew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He lived, it seemed, shut up alone<br>In a low hovel of his own;<br>There cooked his meals and made his bed,<br>Careless of all his neighbors said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His neighbors, too, said many things<br>Expressive of grave wonderings,<br>Since none of them had ever been<br>Within his doors, or peered therein.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In fact, grown watchful, they became<br>Assured that Mr. What's-his-name<br>Was up to something wrong--indeed,<br>Small doubt of it, we all agreed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At night were heard strange noises there,<br>When honest people everywhere<br>Had long retired; and his light<br>Was often seen to burn all night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He left his house but seldom--then<br>Would always hurry back again,<br>As though he feared some stranger's knock,<br>Finding him gone, might burst the lock.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beside, he carried, every day,<br>At the one hour he went away,<br>A basket, with the contents hid<br>Beneath its woven willow lid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so we grew to greatly blame<br>This wary Mr. What's-his-name,<br>And look on him with such distrust<br>His actions seemed to sanction just.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when he died--he died one day--<br>Dropped in the street while on his way<br>To that old wretched hut of his--<br>You'll think it strange--perhaps it is--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when we lifted him, and past<br>The threshold of his home at last,<br>No man of all the crowd but stepped<br>With reverence,--Aye, _quailed_ and _wept_!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What was it? Just a shriek of pain<br>I pray to never hear again--<br>A withered woman, old and bowed,<br>That fell and crawled and cried aloud--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And kissed the dead man's matted hair--<br>Lifted his face and kissed him there--<br>Called to him, as she clutched his hand,<br>In words no one could understand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Insane? Yes.--Well, we, searching, found<br>An unsigned letter, in a round<br>Free hand, within the dead man's breast:<br>'Look to my mother--_I'm_ at rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You'll find my money safely hid<br>Under the lining of the lid<br>Of my work-basket. It is hers,<br>And God will bless her ministers!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And some day--though he died unknown--<br>If through the City by the Throne<br>I walk, all cleansed of earthly shame,<br>I'll ask for Mr. What's-his-name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Whitcomb+Riley">James Whitcomb Riley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416701" data-title="Mr. What's-His-Name de James Whitcomb Riley" data-description="They called him Mr. What's-his-name:
From where he was, or why he came,
Or when, or what he found to do,
Nobody in the city knew.

He lived, it seemed, shut up alone
In a low hovel of his own;
There cooked his meals and made his bed,
Careless of a..."></div>
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