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Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox


My Home


This is the place that I love the best, 
A little brown house, like a ground-birds nest, 
Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees, 
Summer retreat of the birds and bees.

The tenderest light that ever was seen 
Sifts through the vine-made window screen-- 
Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls 
On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls.

All through June the west wind free 
The breath of clover brings to me. 
All through the languid July day 
I catch the scent of new-mown hay.

The morning-glories and scarlet vine 
Over the doorway twist and twine; 
And every day, when the house is still, 
The humming-bird comes to the window-sill.

In the cunningest chamber under the sun 
I sink to sleep when the day is done; 
And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed, 
By a singing bird on the roof oerhead.

Better than treasures brought from Rome, 
Are the living pictures I see at home-- 
My aged father, with frosted hair, 
And mothers face, like a painting rare.

Far from the citys dust and heat, 
I get but sounds and odors sweet. 
Who can wonder I love to stay, 
Week after week, here hidden away, 
In this sly nook that I love the best-- 
This little brown house like a ground-birds nest?



Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems:
  1. The Birth of the Opal
  2. The Awakening (I love the tropics, where sun and rain)
  3. The Chain
  4. At Forty-Eight
  5. Intermediary


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