Home poems

 / page 340 of 465 /
star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Roofs

© Joyce Kilmer

(For Amelia Josephine Burr)The road is wide and the stars are out
and the breath of the night is sweet,
And this is the time when wanderlust should seize upon my feet.
But I'm glad to turn from the open road and the starlight on my

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

When The Boys Come Home

© John Hay

There's a happy time coming,

  When the boys come home.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The House with Nobody in It

© Joyce Kilmer

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for
a minute

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Snowman in the Yard

© Joyce Kilmer

(For Thomas Augustine Daly)The Judge's house has a splendid porch, with pillars
and steps of stone,
And the Judge has a lovely flowering hedge that came from across
the seas;

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Do the Dead Know what Time It Is?

© Kenneth Patchen

  The old guy put down his beer.
  Son, he said,
  (and a girl came over to the table where we were:
  asked us by Jack Christ to buy her a drink.)

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Near The Wall Of A House

© Yehuda Amichai

Near the wall of a house painted
to look like stone,
I saw visions of God.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Young Una

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

Upon the shore young Una lies,

A smile upon her mouth;

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Of Three Or Four In The Room

© Yehuda Amichai

Out of three or four in the room
One is always standing at the window.
Forced to see the injustice amongst the thorns,
The fires on the hills.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

My Childhood's Home

© Caroline Norton

I HAVE tasted each varied pleasure,

 And drunk of the cup of delight;

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Bush Girl

© Henry Lawson

Grey eyes that grow sadder than sunset or rain,
Fond heart that is ever more true
Firm faith that grows firmer for watching in vain--
She’ll wait by the slliprails for you.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

To Ronge

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Strike home, strong-hearted man! Down to the root

Of old oppression sink the Saxon steel.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Poor Man's Lamb

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

Where art thou Nathan? where's that Spirit now,
Giv'n to brave Vice, tho' on a Prince's Brow?
In what low Cave, or on what Desert Coast,
Now Virtue wants it, is thy Presence lost?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Petition for an Absolute Retreat

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

Give me, O indulgent Fate!
Give me yet before I die
A sweet, but absolute retreat,
'Mongst paths so lost and trees so high

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

In Praise Of England

© Alfred Austin

From tangled brake and trellised bower

Bring every bud that blows,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Search After Happiness. A Pastoral Drama

© Hannah More

"To rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the female breast." ~Thomson.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 1 - 250 (Whinfield Translation)

© Omar Khayyám

At dawn a cry through all the tavern shrilled,
"Arise, my brethren of the revelers' guild,
That I may fill our measure full of wine,
Or e'er the measure of our days be filled."

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Equipage

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

Since the Road of Life's so ill;
I, to pass it, use this Skill,
My frail Carriage driving home
To its latest Stage, the Tomb.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Old Oak Tree

© Annie McCarer Darlington

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough:
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'd protect it now.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Man's Injustice Towards Providence

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

Vain-glorious Man do's thus the Praise engross,
When Prosp'rous Days around him spread their Beams:
But, if revolv'd to opposite Extreams,
Still his own Sence he fondly will prefer,
And Providence, not He, in his Affairs must Err!

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Written At Schwytz

© John Kenyon

'Twas not satiety—disgust—

  That led a wanderer forth to roam,