Let the poems about home serve as a reminder of how unique your house is. There are numerous ideas about what our house is like: it’s a place where we can be ourselves, unwind, and find love and tranquility.
Poems About Home
In poetry, the house can be a fantastical, imagined setting, the place where happy memories of childhood were made, or the physical remnant of a failed love.
It can stand in for the fabled “room of one’s own,” the straightforward pleasures of cooking and gardening, or it can contain the tediousness of housework.
Though not always cozy and welcoming, home is a universal concept. Seven of the best poems about home that explore themes of adolescence, family, safety/security, and separation are included on this list.
1. Coming Home by May Riley Smith
I have come to the dear old threshold,
With eager, hurrying feet,
To scent the odorous lilies
That once were so white and sweet.
To taste the apricots mellow
That crimson the garden wall;
To gather the golden pippins
That down in the orchard fall.
I passed by the uncut hedges,
And up through the thistled walk,
And beside the fall of my footsteps
There was only the crickets’ talk.
The weeds grew high in the arbor,
And the nettles, rank and tall,
Had throttled the sweet-breathed lilies
That leaned on the latticed wall.
The little white house is empty,
Its ceilings are cobwebbed o’er,
And the dust and mould are lying
Thick on the trackless floor.
There are no prints in the doorway,
No garments hung in the hall,
And the ghosts of death and silence
Sit and gloat over all!
No eager faces of children
Brightened the window-pane,
Never a peal of laughter
Rippled along the lane;
So I turned through the daisies yellow,
That nodded to see me pass,
To seek for the mellow pippins
That drop in the orchard grass.
But I found a worm in my apples,
And flung them sadly away;
The pool that I thought eternal
All foul and poisonous lay.
A black snake crept from its hiding
And hissed in the marshes wild,
And I bent my head in the rushes
And sobbed like a homesick child!
2. The Dream House by Marjorie Allen Seiffert
I steal across the sodden floor
And dead leaves blow about,
Where once we planned an iron door
To shut the whole world out;
I find the hearth, its fires unlit,
Its ashes cold–Tonight
Only the stars give warmth to it,
Only the moon gives light.
And yonder on our spacious bed
Fashioned for love and sleep
The Autumn goldenrod lies dead,
The maple-leaves lie deep.
3. Go Home, Go Home by Robert Leighton
It is closing hour–I will work no more.
Now time is my own, since my work is o’er.
I hear the laugh of the merry soul,
And long to join at the smoking bowl:
I see the pots of sparkling beer,
And long to dip my lips in their foam:
But a little song rings in my ear,
And its burden is, “Go home, go home.”
‘Tis a little song, but full of sense–
The cream of deep experience.
It bothers not with philosophy,
And gives no reason how or why.
It tells what we know, but seldom note–
That we never repented of going home;
And with a lark’s untiring throat,
It sings, “Go home, O do go home!”
I may not heed that little strain–
For oft it sings to me in vain:
But I ne’er was deaf to its pleading yet,
And pass’d untroubled with regret.
O would my heart had aye been strong,
And shunn’d the snares that o’er us come,
And listen’d to the little song,
Whose burden is, “Go home, go home!”
4. Home by Albert Pike
Though the heart hath been sunken in folly and guilt–
Though its hopes and its joys on earth have been split–
Though its course hath become like the cataract’s foam–
Still, still it is holy, when thinking on Home.
Though its tears have been shed like the rains of the spring–
Though it may have grown loath to existence to cling–
Oh, still a sweet thought like a shadow will come,
When the eye of the mind turns again to its Home.
Though the fire of the heart may have withered its core
Unto ashes and dust–though the head have turned hoar
Ere its time, as the surfs o’er the breakers that foam–
Still, a tear will arise when we think upon Home.
5. Home by Ardelia Cotton Barton
A perfect home is heaven’s door,
It’s built of loving deeds,
No angry frown nor biting word
Will sow discordant seeds.
No selfish wish nor cruel act,
Will in this home be found.
No thought of self will have a place,
For each to each is bound
By ties of love so pure indeed,
So helpful, so serene;
That door seems portal of high heav’n,
Rich treasures there are seen.
Oh! joyous home, when built of love–
Foundation of esteem.
The walls are raised from happiness,
With love the windows gleam.
This home will stand for aye on earth
And through eternity,
For God and angels hold the lease–
The rent is sanctity.
6. Home by C. B. Langston
Wherever I wander, wherever I roam,
The home of my youth oft recurs to my mind;
And with it the loved ones, who gave to that home
The sacred delight I can nowhere else find;
The meadow–the river–the bridge o’er the stream–
The village bells ringing–all float in my dream!
The wood and the valley, the hamlet and mill,
The church, with its ivied and turreted tow’r,
Are fresh in my mem’ry as if I were still
A wanderer midst them in summer’s bright hour;
Oh what can compare to the bliss of that time?
The charm of those scenes, or the spell of that chime?
What treasured affections arise in my soul,
Shedding over my mem’ry luminous light,
As the beams of the moon, when dark clouds unroll,
And reveal to our vision scenes veiled by night;
Each object familiar starts out in relief,
That scene of my joy, or that spot of my grief!
I call to remembrance the homes of the poor;
Their patience, and industry, virtue, and pride–
(Best servants of all to keep want from the door),
And the cares, and the griefs they sought not to hide:
I loved them! and fain would be with them again,
To share in their pleasure, or soften their pain.
Ah! many a lesson I’ve learned from their lot,
How to curb my complaints, and my blessings to prize;
I saw that contentment was wealth in a cot;
That poverty’s sons could be noble and wise;
Each had his portion of trials to bear,
Some thorn of the flesh, or some harassing care.
And such were the treasures my early life gave!
Such taught me to value the pure and the true;
To strengthen the weak, and to learn from the brave,
To imitate virtue that praise never knew;
To carry sweet sympathy home to the heart,
To bind up its wounds, and pour balm on its smart.
7. Home by Edith Willis Linn Forbes
Within the walls by art bedecked,
Beneath a glittering palace dome,
If there the voice of childhood sounds
The woman’s heart will find a home.
On cabin floor, in barren room,
Beneath torn tents of those who roam,
If tiny, helpless hands are there,
The woman’s heart will find a home.
The saying “home sweet home” is one that writers and poets have used to describe the feeling of home. We hope these poems about home give you thoughts about what a home is.
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