"I OWN my house, but have no home," said J. Augustus Cork, as wearily he tried to comb his whiskers with a fork. "My house is strictly up-to-date, with every modern fad, and visitors pronounce it great, and think I should be glad. An English butler buttles round, and wields a frozen stare; imported maids are on the ground, to comb my lady's hair. And I have works of art to burn, all swell and reshershay, with here a bust or Grecian urn, and there 'The Stag at Bay.' No kids along the hallway rush, or bump along the stair, but over all's a solemn hush, as though a corpse were there. The kids would like full well to romp, and raise a howdydo, but they must live up to our pomp and vulgar noise eschew. I have a house but not a home, and hence my air of gloom; this mansion, with its gaudy dome, is cheerless as a tomb. I'd like to swap this swell abode, with all its works of art, for that cheap cottage down the road, where first we made our start." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INFANT JOY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ON THE SITE OF A MULBERRY-TREE PLANTED BY SHAKESPEARE ... by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A SUMMER SUMMARY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS VORTICIST POEM ON LOVE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MUSIC OF HUNGARY by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH THE VIGILANTES by MARGARET ELIZA ASHMUN THE HAPPY NIGHTINGALE by PHILIP AYRES THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY; A LEGEND OF DOVER by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |