This house is ugly -- but it is the house I live in. Tomorrow I will plant a rose-bush by the door-step And edge the gravel path with homely scented spice-pinks, And I will weed the path and rake it smoothly over. Before my wide-flung door, jesting, I'll spread my prayer-rug; Before my clean-swept hearth-stone I will lay my hearth-rug. In summer I will bank the hearth with pungent pine boughs. And fill my copper lustre-jug with cool blue larkspurs. In winter I will keep a fire of beech-logs burning, And put my lustre jug where the firelight will strike it. And yet, when night blots out this house I live in, often I'll sit long in the purple dark -- nor light the candles. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MARMOZET by HILAIRE BELLOC A POST-IMPRESSIONIST SUSURRATION FOR THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER by HAYDEN CARRUTH DEDICATION IN THESE DAY by HAYDEN CARRUTH MY FATHER'S FACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH EPITAPH FOR A SOLDIER by DAVID IGNATOW |