Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HOME (2), by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST Poem Explanation Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home Last Line: It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home. Alternate Author Name(s): Guest, Eddie Subject(s): Home; Philosophy & Philosophers | ||||||||
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home, A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind, An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind. It don't make any difference how rich ye get t' be, How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury; It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king, Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything. Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute; Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it; Within the walls theres got t' be some babies born, and then Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men; And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part With anything they ever used -- they've grown in yer heart: The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb-marks on the door. Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh; An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come, An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave her sweet voice dumb. Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an' when yer tears are dried, Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified; An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories O' her that was an' is no more -- ye can't escape from these. Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t' romp and play, An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day; Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes t' run The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun; Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome: It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROMAN SKETCHBOOK: READING/RUSSELL SAYS, 'THERE IS NO RHINOCEROS IN by ROBERT CREELEY THE CLOUDS OF MAGELLAN (APHORISMS OF MR. CANON ASPIRIN) by NORMAN DUBIE THREE SONNETS by RICHARD WILBUR OLD ARISTIPPUS by ANSELM HOLLO PUT IN A QUAVER, HERE AND THERE by ANSELM HOLLO FIN-DE-SIECLE BLUES by CAROLYN KIZER I BROOD ABOUT SOME CONCEPTS, FOR EXAMPLE by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER |
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