Home poems
/ page 22 of 465 /The Three Concerned
© Leon Gellert
The Man
He lies forgotten 'neath the watching skies,
the blood upon his bayonet scarlet bright;
the red moon shining in his glazed eyes,
the 'Last Post' crying, crying in the night.
The Secret Whisky Cure
© Henry Lawson
Twas a common sordid marriage, and theres little new to tell
Save the pub to him was Heaven and his own home was a hell:
With the office in between thempurgatory to be sure
And, as far as Jones could make outwell, there wasnt any cure.
Epilogue To The Breakfast-Table Series
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
AUTOCRAT-PROFESSOR-POET
AT A BOOKSTORE
Home Fire by Linda Parsons Marion: American Life in Poetry #92 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2
© Ted Kooser
Home is where the heart. . . Well, surely we all know that old saying. But it's the particulars of a home that make it ours. Here the poet Linda Parsons Marion, who lives in Knoxville, Tennessee, celebrates familiarity, in its detail and its richness.
Ode XII: On Recovering From A Fit Of Sickness, In the Country
© Mark Akenside
I.
Thy verdant scenes, O Goulder's hill,
Rhymed Plea For Tolerance - Dialogue II.
© John Kenyon
A.
By no faint shame withheld from general gaze,
'Tis thus, my friend, we bask us in the blaze;
Where deeds, more surface-smooth than inly bright,
Snatch up a transient lustre from the light.
Cadland, Southampton River
© William Lisle Bowles
If ever sea-maid, from her coral cave,
Beneath the hum of the great surge, has loved
Forby Sutherland
© George Gordon McCrae
A LANE of elms in June;the air
Of eve is cool and calm and sweet.
An Invitation To Maecenas
© Eugene Field
Dear, noble friend! a virgin cask
Of wine solicits your attention;
The Shadows
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
"How many have gone?" was the question of old
Ere Time our bright ring of its jewels bereft;
Alas! for too often the death-bell has tolled,
And the question we ask is, "How many are left?"
Our Country
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WE give thy natal day to hope,
O Country of our love and prayer!
Thy way is down no fatal slope,
But up to freer sun and air.
The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo
© William Schwenck Gilbert
From east and south the holy clan
Of Bishops gathered to a man;
The Living Beauties
© Edgar Albert Guest
I never knew, until they went,
How much their laughter really meant
I never knew how much the place
Depended on each little face;
How barren home could be and drear
Without its living beauties here.
The Wanderer
© Mathilde Blind
ON unknown paths I falter forth,
A homeless wand'rer in the world;
Doubtful I flit across the earth,
Whither by blowing fates I'm hurled.
Variations At Home And Abroad
© Kenneth Koch
It takes a lot of a person's life
To be French, or English, or American
The Country Retreat
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
OH lone and lovely solitude,
Washed by the sounding sea;
Nature was in a poet's mood,
When she created thee.
She Moved Through the Faire
© Padraic Colum
My young love said to me: My mother won't mind,
And my father won't slight you for your lack of kind.
Pharsalia - Book II: The Flight Of Pompeius
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
This was made plain the anger of the gods;
The universe gave signs Nature reversed
In monstrous tumult fraught with prodigies
Her laws, and prescient spake the coming guilt.
The Episode Of Nisus And Euryalus
© George Gordon Byron
'In vain you damp the ardour of my soul,'
Replied Euryalus; 'it scorns control!
Hence, let us haste! '- their brother guards arose,
Roused by their call, nor court again repose;
The pair, bouyed up on Hope's exulting wing,
Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king.