HOME, to the hills and the rough, running water; Home, to the plain folk and cold winds again. Oh, I am only a gray farm's still daughter, Spite of my wandering passion and pain! Home, from the city that snares and enthralls me; Home, from the bold light and bold weary crowd. Oh, it's the blown snow and bare field that calls me; White star and shy dawn and wild lonely cloud! Home, to the gray house the pine-trees guard, sighing; Home, to the low door that laughs to my touch. How should I know till my wings failed me, flying, Home-nest, -- my heart's nest, -- I loved you so much? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WASHING-DAY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE DESERTED GARDEN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. BENJAMIN PANTIER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE DEAR PRESIDENT by JOHN JAMES PIATT THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF AESCHYLUS by AESCHYLUS APOLLO AND DAPHNE by PHILIP AYRES |