83 Poems about Home to Feel Love and Longing

We welcome you to an extensive collection of poems about home.

Whatever the word “home” means to you, there is something sentimental about the place we call home.

It’s the heart of the house, the place where we cook, eat, socialize, relax, and express our individuality via our furnishings and decorations.

We might all use a small reminder of how it feels to be at home, to come home, and to leave home from time to time.

If you are longing for your home, these home poems will cheer you up.

Let’s look at them!

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Inspirational Poems about Homes

Whether you’re homesick or just wish you were back home right now, these poems of home and longing will touch with your recollections of what actually feels like “home dear home”.

1. Home

       by Janie J.

Those first kisses

Tender and true

That’s how I remembered you.

A knowing; a wanting

Safe and secure

A Love rediscovered

Once it matured.

Lost lifetimes ago

I’d been searching in vain

Wondering why things

Were never the same.

Somehow my soul and

My body knew

But my mind wasn’t sure

Just what to do.

Laid my head on your chest

Felt your warm embrace

Such tenderness took me

To a new place.

The place I call home

Where I’ll always be

Where I am with you

And you are with me.

Home’s not a house

But a feeling instead.

One that lingers

Long after life’s been shed.

2. Home is Where The Heart is

       by Anonymous

Many who will journey

Never to return

Remembering their homeland

Before it was to burn

Minimal belongings

But memories galore

Of time when things were joyful

Before this time of war

Where will our feet take us

What roads are we to find

Charting new directions

With our home still in our mind

Home is where the heart is

Something we all hope to see

Where we return together

To a country that is free

3. Home Defined

       by Charles Swain

Home’s not merely four square walls,

Though with pictures hung and gilded:

Home is where affection calls,

Filled with shrines the heart hath builded!

Home! go watch the faithful dove,

Sailing ‘neath the heaven above us;

Home is where there’s one to love!

Home is where there’s one to love us!

Home’s not merely roof and room,

It needs something to endear it;

Home is where the heart can bloom,

Where there’s some kind lip to cheer it!

What is home with none to meet,

None to welcome, none to greet us?

Home is sweet, -and only sweet-

When there’s one we love to meet us!

4. My Home

       by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Far from the city’s dust and heat,

I get but sounds and odours 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-bird’s nest?

5. The Home I Love

       by Kay Hoffman

But one I know is far more sweet

Where tiny smudges on the wall

Tell of fingers dear and small.

Where toys are sometimes strewn about

And doors are banging in and out.

Where little children play and sing,

And laughter’s often heard to ring…

The home I love is filled with noise

Of happy little girls and boys!

6. Home of My Youth

       by William B. Tappan

Home of my youth! with fond delight,

On thee doth recollection dwell;

Home of my youth! how gaily bright,

The scenes that childhood loved so well.

Cot of my fathers! well I know,

The spot that saw my infant dawn;

Near the green lane, the old elm row–

The village spire–the grassy lawn.

O! sweet to me the laughing hours,

When earth seemed gay, and heaven was fair;

When fancy culled her thornless flowers,

And pleasure reigned, unknown to care.

Home of my youth! this heart away,

Recalls those moments dear to me;

Often in dreams will memory stray,

Home of my youth–to weep o’er thee.

7. Home

       by Ardelia Cotton Barton

A perfect home is heaven’s door,

It’s built of loving deeds,

No angry frown nor biting word

Will sow discordant seeds.

No selfish wish nor cruel act,

Will in this home be found.

No thought of self will have a place,

For each to each is bound

By ties of love so pure indeed,

So helpful, so serene;

That door seems portal of high heav’n,

Rich treasures there are seen.

Oh! joyous home, when built of love–

Foundation of esteem.

The walls are raised from happiness,

With love the windows gleam.

This home will stand for aye on earth

And through eternity,

For God and angels hold the lease–

The rent is sanctity.

8. A Home Song

       by Henry Van Dyke

I read within a poet’s book

A word that starred the page:

‘Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage!’

Yes, that is true; and something more

You’ll find, where’er you roam

That marble floors and gilded walls

Can never make a home.

But every house where Love abides,

And Friendship is a guest,

Is surely home, and home-sweet-home:

For there the heart can rest.

9. Weekend in Cuero

       by Leland Parker

Drivin’ around to the back of the house,

Gettin’ out, walkin’ in, almost unannounced…

The TV’s are on and so are Mother’s beans.

Cornbread’s in the oven with Daddy’s greens…

They both look up with smiles on their faces,

Sendin’ away all of life’s hard traces…

I couldn’t wait to get on that big ole couch,

Layin’ around kinda like a big ole slouch….

Not worryin’ about what all’s been going on,

Because now I’m in Cuero, yes, I’m at home…

Evenin’ soon comes and Mother is in bed, watchin’ TV in the mirror,

Daddy’s in his chair noddin’ his head.

The only time that it was ever rough for me there

Is when my brothers had a couch and I had a chair…

But we always did have a wonderful time.

Daddy winnin’ at dominoes as he marked the last dime…

The weekend goes by so comfortin’ but fast,

And now they’re gone forever, because forever doesn’t last…

But I can still go there, and a weekend can still start,

Because these memories are not in my head, but in my heart.

10. Where I’m From

by Tim J. Bellendir

I’m from rifles,

From footballs and shotguns.

I’m from the dirt and grass on my farm,

From the four wheeler that I can still remember

The sound of the motor.

I’m from the outdoors and hunting,

From football and baseball,

From Looney Tunes and Tom and Jerry.

I’m from Ratchet and Clank.

From rip sticks and scooters

And toy swords and shields.

In my garage there has always been

A dirt bike or four wheeler.

I’m from getting up early to eat breakfast

With the local farmers and my grandpa.

I’m from toy tractors and model cars,

From the farmers and hunters.

I went/go to a Christian church

With all the local farmers.

From the hard working family,

I’m from the country songs

Like Jason Aldean and Eric Church,

From riding in tractors every day

After preschool ended.

From the Legos and

Action figures to the toy trucks

And cars.

I’m from going to work with my dad

To after school with my mom.

I’m from my mom’s

Softball games.

I’m from going to the

Movies with my friends.

I played flag football and won

The Pumpkin Bowl twice.

I was the Steelers

And Chiefs.

I’m from playing catch

with my brother.

I’m from getting the

chicken basket at Dairy Queen

And the cookie dough blizzard

From the Coca-Cola drinkers.

This is where I’m from.

Beautiful Poems about Home

These beautiful poetries about home remind us that our house is more than just walls and mortar; it feels unique because of the people who live in it.

1. Home

       by John Clare

Muses no more what ere ye be

In fancys pleasures roam

But sing (by truth inspir’d) wi’ me

The pleasures of a home

Nor vain extreems I sigh for here

No Lordlings costly dome

‘Be thine the choice’ says reason ‘where

‘Contentment crowns a home’

O! fate to give my bosom peace

Unsettl’d as I roam

To bid my restless wanderings cease

& fix me in a home

A evening cot days toils to cheer

When tir’d I ceas’d to roam

& lovley Ema smileing near

O happy happy home

How oft the tramping Vagrant sighs

(By fate ordain’d to roam)

For labours best & happiest joys

The comforts of a home

& O when labour night descries

When ceas’d to toil & roam

What joys will in his bosom rise

To think he owns a home

2. The House Was Quiet And The World Was Calm 

       by Wallace Stevens

The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.

The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,

Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be

The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.

The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:

The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. the truth in a calm world,

In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself

Is the reader leaning late and reading there.

3. Home is So Sad

       by Philip Larkin

Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,

Shaped to the comfort of the last to go

As if to win them back. Instead, bereft

Of anyone to please, it withers so,

Having no heart to put aside the theft

And turn again to what it started as,

A joyous shot at how things ought to be,

Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:

Look at the pictures and the cutlery.

The music in the piano stool. That vase.

4. The Old Home

       by Anonymous

In vain we strive to keep the tears from falling, as we turn to face

The dear old home, that dwelling-place of ours for many happy years.

A spirit seems to whisper low in language quaint, sublime and queer,

“How can you leave without a tear the old home of the long ago?”

The old, old home where happy hours were often passed in childish play;

Where memories sweet did pass away  beneath time’s overwhelming powers.

We turn to go, yet linger nigh unwilling still to leave the place

Which time alone will soon efface beyond the sight of any eye.

Again we look, and through our tears the purest feelings of the heart

Awake to life, and quickly start adown the mystic flight of years.

Yes, we must go; our mind is set on something dearer yet to find.

The dear old home we leave behind with “one pure image of regret.”

O, blessed place of rest, farewell!  We leave thee with our hopes and fears

To sail adown the fleeting years o some fair isle where seraphs dwell.

Adieu, thou peaceful realm of light!  Along the gulf of time we stray;

We’ll think of thee when for away, we’ll think of thee with glad delight.

Farewell! in leaving, all the years of happy childhood quick return;

Farewell! farewell! we yet may learn of something grander for our tears.

Old home, adieu, yet as we roam far from thy peaceful vale of rest

We cannot hope to be more blest than we were in our dear old home.

5. The Living Beauties

       by Edgar A. Guest

I never knew, until they went,

How much their laughter really meant

I never knew how much the place

Depended on each little face;

How barren home could be and drear

Without its living beauties here.

I never knew that chairs and books

Could wear such sad and solemn looks!

That rooms and halls could be at night

So still and drained of all delight.

This home is now but brick and board

Where bits of furniture are stored.

I used to think I loved each shelf

And room for what it was itself.

And once I thought each picture fine

Because I proudly called it mine.

But now I know they mean no more

Than art works hanging in a store.

Until they went away to roam

I never knew what made it home.

But I have learned that all is base.

However wonderful the place

And decked with costly treasures, rare,

Unless the living joys are there.

6. Arrival

       by Henry Vandyke

Across a thousand miles of sea, a hundred leagues of land,

Along a path I had not traced and could not understand,

I travelled fast and far for this,–to take thee by the hand.

A pilgrim knowing not the shrine where he would bend his knee,

A mariner without a dream of what his port would be,

So fared I with a seeking heart until I came to thee.

O cooler than a grove of palm in some heat-weary place,

O fairer than an isle of calm after the wild sea race,

The quiet room adorned with flowers where first I saw thy face!

Then furl the sail, let fall the oar, forget the paths of foam!

The fate that made me wander far at last has brought me home

To thee, dear haven of my heart, and I no more will roam.

7. Folks

       by Edgar A. Guest

We was speakin’ of folks, jes’ common folks,

An’ we come to this conclusion.

That wherever they be, on land or sea.

They warm to a home allusion;

That under the skin an’ under the hide

There’s a spark that starts a-glowin’

Whenever they look at a scene or book

That something of home is showin’.

They may differ in creeds an’ politics,

They may argue an’ even quarrel,

But their throats grip tight, if they catch sight

Of their favorite elm or laurel.

An’ the winding lane that they used to tread

With never a care to fret ’em,

Or the pasture gate where they used to wait.

Right under the skin will get ’em.

Now folks, is folks on their different ways,

With their different griefs an’ pleasures,

But the home they knew, when their years were few,

Is the dearest of all their treasures.

An’ the richest man to the poorest waif

Right under the skin is brother

When they stand an’ sigh, with a tear-dimmed eye.

At a thought of the dear old mother.

It makes no difference where it may be.

Nor the fortunes that years may alter,

Be they simple or wise, the old home ties

Make all of ’em often falter.

Time may robe ’em in sackcloth coarse

Or garb ’em in gorgeous splendor.

But whatever their lot, they keep one spot

Down deep that is sweet an’ tender.

We was speakin’ of folks, jes’ common folks,

An’ we come to this conclusion.

That one an’ all, be they great or small.

Will warm to a home allusion;

That under the skin an’ the beaten hide

They’re kin in a real affection

For the joys they knew, when their years were few.

An’ the home of their recollection.

8. Where Is Home?

       by Anonymous

Home is where affection binds

Gentle hearts in union,

Where the voices all are kind,

Holding sweet communion.

Home is where the hearts can rest

Safe from darkening sorrow,

Where the friends we love the best

Brighten every sorrow.

Home is where the friends that love

To our hearts are given,

Where the blessings from above

Makes the home a heaven.

Yes, ’tis home where smiles of cheer

Wreath the brows that greet us,

And the one of all most dear

Ever comes to meet us.

9. Make Yourself At Home

       by Lillian E. Curtis

As we journey far away,

And o’er the land do roam,

‘Tis a pleasant sound to hear,

“Pray, make yourself at home.”

But vain as it is useless,

For whether it be cot or throne,

On this wide, wide earth,

There is no place like home.

Our host and hostess may be kind,

And many a comfort loan,

But the words are vain as useless,

“Pray, make yourself at home.”

Though we affect content,

The heart will cry and moan,

And vain as useless are the words,

“Do make yourself at home.”

10. In Sight of Home

       by Strickland Gillilan

All day I wander blithesomely adown each roadway turn;

I seek new pastures restlessly and ramble on and on.

But as the red sun westers down, I feel the primal yearn

To be in sight of home again before the light is gone.

The distant hilltop lures my feet, I hunger for its view;

What lies beyond the darkling wood I needs must run and see.

All day I bravely plunge ahead in search of vistas new,

But when the twilight comes, my home calls lovingly to me.

Twilight and home are comrade things – would they might always meet!

My heart breaks every evening when I cannot see my own.

The trip, the crowd, the stranger voice through all the day are sweet,

But dusk brings on the sorrow that I needs must bear alone.

When, after life’s long journeyings, your sun slips gently down

The copper-burnished western sky and there’s a hint of gloam,

May you not see the stranger hill or wood before you frown

May life’s sweet evening shadows find your soul in sight of Home!

11. Mariners

       by David Morton

Men who have loved the ships they took to sea.

Loved the tall masts, the prows that creamed with foam.

Have learned, deep in their hearts, how it might be

That there is yet a dearer thing than home.

The decks they walk, the rigging in the stars.

The clean boards counted in the watch they keep —

These, and the sunlight on the slippery spars.

Will haunt them ever, waking and asleep.

Famous Poems about Home

There are various ideas about our home – it is a place where we can be ourselves, relax, find calm, and be with those who love us. We hope these famous home and family poems help you remember how wonderful your home is.

1. A Home in The Heart

       by Eliza Cook

Oh! ask not a home in the mansions of pride,

Where marble shines out in the pillars and walls;

Though the roof be of gold, it is brilliantly cold,

And joy may not be found in its torchlighted halls.

But seek for a bosom all honest and true,

Where love, once awakened, will never depart;

Turn, turn to that breast like the dove to its nest,

And you’ll find there’s no home like a home in the heart.

Oh! link but one spirit that’s warmly sincere,

That will heighten your pleasure and solace your care;

Find a soul you may trust as the kind and the just,

And be sure the wide world holds no treasure so rare.

Then the frowns of Misfortune may shadow our lot,

The cheek-searing- tear-drops of Sorrow may start;

But a star never dim sheds a halo for him

Who can turn for repose to a home in the heart.

2. Don’t Forget The Old Folks

       by Will T. Hale

Nay, don’t forget the old folks, boys -they’ve not forgotten you;

Though years have passed since you were home, the old hearts still are true,

And not an evening passes by they haven’t the desire

To see your faces once again and hear your footsteps nigher.

You’re young and buoyant, and for you

Hope beckons with her hands

And life spreads out a waveless sea that laps but tropic strands;

The world is all before your face, but let your memories turn

To where fond hearts still cherish you and loving bosoms yearn.

No matter what your duties are nor what your place in life,

There’s never been a time they’d not assume your load of strife;

And shrunken shoulders, trembling hands, and forms racked by disease

Would bravely dare the grave to bring to you the pearl of peace.

So don’t forget the old folks, boys — they’ve not forgotten you;

Though years have passed since you “were home the old hearts still are true;

And write them now and then to bring the light into their eyes,

And make the world glow once again and bluer gleam the skies.

3. The Home

       By Rosamond Livingstone McNaught

No matter what of change the years may bring,

Let this remain, the family’s gathering-place,

Where voices join to talk and laugh and sing.

And happy face looks into happy face;

Where tender memories may store the mind,

To bloom again in future dreaming hours,

As when, between book-pages, one may find

Forgotten sprays of treasured azure flowers.

Home for the weary! More than sheltering walls

And place for body’s food and rest and ease;

A benedicite of spirit falls

With intermingling human pleasantries:

Let this remain, among all changing things,

Home, where the weary spirit folds its wings.

4. A Dream of Home

       by Alex Tuer

When the work is over and the care laid by,

For the day that is almost done,

When the crimson and gold in the western sky

Bid farewell to the setting sun,

I stand on the shore and watch the ships

Far out on the sparkling foam,

And I wonder how many a tired heart

Each ship is carrying home.

And I think of the friends who are waiting there

On the farther shore of the sea.

With hearts that are big with the love they bear

And of meetings that soon will be.

And in fancy I join in a happy throng

Where old friends gather round,

And I wonder if ever I’ll stand on the deck

On a ship that’s homeward bound.

For the lives of men are so inclined

That no matter how far we roam,

No distance can sever the ties that bind

Our hearts to love of home,

And ever the strains of that grand old song

Will quicken our dreams anew

And I wonder will ever the glad day come

When my dream of home will come true.

5. Home

       by Edgar Guest

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 differunce 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 there’s 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 into 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 an’ 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.

6. Take Me Home

       by Rick W. Cotton

In the summer of ’32

A little boy, 6 years old,

Separated from his Mama

In a five and ten-cent store,

And he cries as he tries to find her.

At last, he runs to her arms.

As she holds him close, he says, “Mama, take me home.”

Take me home, take me home.

I’m so tired, take me home

To the place where I am loved, where I’ll never be alone.

Take me home, take me home.

I’m so tired, take me home,

I’m leaning on your arms to take me home.

In the winter of ’44,

In the war-torn town of Bastogne,

Shivering in a foxhole,

The young man waits all alone.

All his buddies have fallen around him,

Their blood spilled red on the snow.

As the bullets fly, he prays, “Lord, get me home.”

Take me home, take me home.

I’m so tired, take me home

To the child I’ve never seen. Lord, I want to watch her grow.

Take me home, take me home.

I’m so tired, take me home,

I’m leaning on Your arms to take me home.

Well, the years go by, and God does not fail.

The young man and his family grow

‘Til the day he’s a grandpa, telling his grandson

‘Bout his wartime days in the snow.

“Grandpa, weren’t you afraid they would get you?

When you wanted to hide, where’d you go?”

Grandpa smiles and says,

“Boy, to the best friend I’ll ever know.”

In the Springtime of ’05,

A man full of years, grown old,

His body is swiftly failing,

But his family is safely grown,

And his wife has gone on before him.

He knows that his time has come,

He smiles and says, “Lord, when You’re ready….take me home.”

Take me home, take me home.

I’m so tired, take me home

To the place where I am loved, where my loved ones all will go.

Take me home, take me home.

Lord, I’m tired, take me home.

I’m leaning on Your arms to take me home.

I’m leaning on Your arms to take me….home.

7. To an Old House

       by Rick W. Cotton

What have you seen in your hundred years?

If asked, what would you say,

Of the dozen families that lived in your walls,

Of the hundreds of children at play?

Did the boys slide down the bannister rail,

To a mother’s angry scolding?

How many laughs, and how many tears

Have marked the years unfolding?

Every time a floorboard creaks,

The sound tells a story.

A hundred summers in their heat,

A hundred Christmas glories.

Here in this kitchen, a dozen mothers

Have left their stories behind.

Open the cupboards, look and see,

There a tale you’ll find.

Old recipe on yellowed paper,

Phone numbers scribbled on doors,

A catalog from ’65,

1950’s floors.

A hundred years of living,

These walls have seen each day.

A dozen families loved this place,

Then, sadly, moved away.

And now you sit, empty, forlorn.

Your dusty halls are still.

But memories linger in these walls,

And memories always will.

Do ghosts hide here, in your shadows?

Are there secrets, hidden well?

Oh, that you could only speak,

The tales that you could tell.

To walk your halls in quiet step,

Just listen, hear the story

That an old house can clearly tell,

In matchless oratory.

“I am the years gone by, and yet,

I welcome you within!

This empty house can be your home!

A new tale can begin!”

8. My Foundation

       by Annette R. Hershey

This structure is very special.

It means the world to me.

It began on a strong foundation,

A very secure place to be.

When I have been threatened,

It has sheltered me from the storm.

Individual bricks placed by loving hands

Make up this solid form.

The walls echo with sounds of laughter,

The decor shows signs of wear.

Warmth emits from every room,

Reminiscence events for us to share.

My parents are my foundation.

They mean the world to me.

The structure is our family,

A very secure place to be.

9. Remembering

       by Alora M. Knight

When sleepless I lie,

As the hours slip by,

I go walking the paths back home.

I hear the meadowlark’s song

As I amble along

In this fanciful way that I roam.

As my memories clutter,

A tractor’s soft mutter

Is providing new chocolate brown fields

For the ground to be seeded

When spring planting is needed.

A plan for which all nature yields.

A tinkling cowbell

Tells me all is now well

With the herd contentedly grazing.

Mother cows keep an eye,

While their newborns race by

With a speed that is simply amazing.

Thunderclouds overhead

Start to fill me with dread,

For I know that soon it will storm.

I cannot complain.

In fact, I love rain

As long as I’m in where it’s warm.

As my feet stir the dust

I know that I must

Leave my childhood memories behind.

Still, it’s a comfort to know

That wherever I go,

They will always be there in my mind.

10. I Am From

        by Rose M. De Leon

I am from the love of my family.

I am from my mom, my dad, my grandmother, and my grandfather.

I am from sweet baked cakes, homemade cornbread,

and all the smells of the world.

I am from good jobs, great effort, and “GO to YOUR ROOM.”

I am from thick and thin, cold and hot.

I am from stories from my neighbors, from my dad and my mom, from my nephew and nieces.

Stories to stay strong.

I am from childhood pictures and baby toys.

From rattles, pacifiers and bottles.

I am from my mother’s stomach

where she held me for nine full months.

I am from good and bad.

I am from music of ALL kinds.

I am from feast such as parties.

I am from piñatas, candy and ice cream. I am from all kinds of fun.

I am from “I got your back” and “You’re one of a kind.”

I am from love and harmony and everyone around me.

I am from hard and soft.

I am from my father’s heart and my mother’s love…. I am from the hands of God.

11. Ranch of Memories

       by Atusa S. Hangafarin

My feet pressed against the dusty roads.

The cool breeze skimmed my face.

The air’s fragrance, a mixture of fruit and flowers, traveled through my nose.

Down the slopes I would race,

My hair spreading all around me.

The dogs raced down too.

This fantasy became reality,

A dream come true.

Some people may just call it a walk or a hike,

But it is independence for me.

Some people prefer to take a bike, but I let my soul fly free

On my grandpa’s ranch.

Across the trees,

Across the flower patch,

Through the breeze.

This is the place I love to go.

This is the place my soul flies free.

So many memories I cherish it holds.

This is where I get to see my family.

My grandpa’s ranch, my favorite place in the world.

Short Poems about Home

The heart, intellect, and comfort are all found at home. There is no place like home. Thus, whether you’re currently resting at home or missing your favorite spot, here are some short poems about home to make you feel good.

1. To Our Good House

       by Annette Wynne

This is our house for work and play—

A pleasant place all through the day;

Shine in on us, O kindly sun,

Until the glad day’s work is done;

And then across the world of night

Shine out, dear home, the source of light;

This is our house for work and play—

For us and you that come our way!

2. Excerpt From “Better Than Gold”

       by Father Ryan

Better than gold is a peaceful home,

Where all the fire-side charities come—

The shrine of love, the heaven of life,

Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife.

However humble the home may be,

Or tried with sorrow by Heaven’s decree,

The blessings that never were bought or sold,

And center there, are better than gold.

3. Welcome

       by Hulda Fetzer

Out in the world as sadly I yearn

For friends I’ve not seen a long while;

I know they will welcome me on my return,

And welcome me back with a smile.

But those who are closer, who are my own,

Those who are very dear,

They’ll lovingly welcome me back home,

And welcome me back with a tear.

4. O Make A House

       by Annette Wynne

They cut a piece of the world outside

And put it inside doors,

And covered up the sky with roofs

And spread the ground with floors.

5. Homes

       by Annette Wynne

Wigwams, igloos, nests in trees,

Holes for fishes, hives for bees,

Cold or warm, and small or big,

To make a home, build, sew, or dig!

6. At Home

       by Mary Tarver Carroll

You may seek for the end of the rainbow

Over mountains and valleys afar,

You may wend weary miles in your questing

Until evening blossoms a star—

When homeward you turn, disappointed,

Heartsick at the end of your dream—

You see from your small cottage window

A bright, broad ruddy beam

That beckons you in “O come hither,

Too long from the fireside you roam,

The goal of real joy that you seek for

Is found nowhere else but at home!”

7. A Prayer for A Little Home

       by Anonymous

God send us a little home

To come back to when we roam—

Low walls and fluted tiles,

Wide windows, a view for miles;

Red firelight and deep chairs;

Small white beds upstairs;

Great talk in little nooks;

Dim colors, rows of books;

One picture on each wall;

Not many things at all.

God send us a little ground—

Tall trees standing round,

Homely flowers in brown sod,

Overhead, Thy stars, O God!

God bless, when winds blow,

Our home and all we know.

8. Ong for A Little House

       by Christopher Morley

I’m glad our house is a little house,

Not too tall nor too wide:

I’m glad the hovering butterflies

Feel free to come inside.

Our little house is a friendly house.

It is not shy or vain;

It gossips with the talking trees,

And makes friends with the rain.

And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green

Against our whited walls,

And in the phlox, the courteous bees

Are paying duty calls.

9. Home From School

       by Anonymous

The western sun comes softly in

Through hall door open wide,

Young Rover lies with low-stretched chin

Upon the steps outside.

The great hall clock ticks sleepily;

A hint of clucking hen

Conies from the yard uncertainly,

Then all is still again.

But hark! A banging of the gate!

A clatter up the walk!

A tangle of blithe sounds elate

In song and laugh and talk!

Loud strikes the clock the chickens flee,

Rover’s a frantic fool;

The very sunshine laughs to see

The children home from school!

10. Home Is Home

       by AmNat789

With roaring wind and crushing tides,

All alone and cold in the wild.

There’s no need to be alone,

For a place of love and happiness abide,

A place full of warmth and love.

Don’t live your life feeling cold.

Feel the warmth of Home.

Long Poems about Home

Home is the spot where you always feel like yourself, no matter what happens. It’s difficult to put into words, but these long poetry about home make us think about home and how it molds who we are as humans.

1. A Happy Home

       by James Henry Thomas

Tell me what makes a happy home,

Where consecrated love

Makes sacred every cabin, and

Sanctioned by God above?

Is it the costly things of life,

Or riches piled in heaps;

That make a home happy and bright,

And out of danger keep?

Are happy homes made by wrecked lives,

Or unmatched married ties,

Or by a wife who cannot show

Some kindness in her eyes?

Can any home be happy when

The woman pays the bills,

And lets her husband idly go;

Caring not for her ills?

Or can it be, the man works hard

To satisfy his wife,

While she makes home a wretched place

By her ungrateful life?

The man and wife should love the same;

If this cannot be done.

‘Tis like a cart built for two wheels,

But tries to go on one.

Home is a place where man and wife,

In unity and love,

Are happy when the days are dark,

Then nuptial tie they prove.

Home is the place where children love

To go and be at rest;

They hover ’round their mother’s knee,

For mother knows the best.

Home is the place where prayer is taught

To children in their youth;

They learn to be obedient,

And learn to tell the truth.

Home is the place where father goes

Before the clock strikes nine;

He meets his wife, whose face is bright,

And tells her she looks fine.

Home is the place where mother loves

To spend most of her time.

Her house is not a place in which

There’re misery and crime.

I’m sorry for the man who has

No place to call his home;

But has to take what he can get.

Or in this wide world roam.

The days of preparation pass,

And yet he cannot see

That worldly pleasures steal his wit,

And give him misery.

O happy home, blessed home!

Made sacred by God’s love;

I hope that I’ll remember thee

When I am up above.

2. My Lost Youth

       by Henry 

Often I think of the beautiful town

That is seated by the sea;

Often in thought go up and down

The pleasant streets of that dear old town,

And my youth comes back to me.

And a verse of a Lapland song

Is haunting my memory still:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,

And catch, in sudden gleams,

The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,

And islands that were the Hesperides

Of all my boyish dreams.

And the burden of that old song,

It murmurs and whispers still:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I remember the black wharves and the slips,

And the sea-tides tossing free;

And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,

And the beauty and mystery of the ships,

And the magic of the sea.

And the voice of that wayward song

Is singing and saying still:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

And the fort upon the hill;

The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,

The drum-beat repeated o’er and o’er,

And the bugle wild and shrill.

And the music of that old song

Throbs in my memory still:

A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I remember the sea-fight far away,

How it thundered o’er the tide!

And the dead captains, as they lay

In their graves, o’erlooking the tranquil bay,

Where they in battle died.

And the sound of that mournful song

Goes through me with a thrill:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I can see the breezy dome of groves,

The shadows of Deering’s Woods;

And the friendships old and the early loves

Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves

In quiet neighborhoods.

And the verse of that sweet old song,

It flutters and murmurs still:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart

Across the school-boy’s brain;

The song and the silence in the heart,

That in part are prophecies, and in part

Are longings wild and vain.

And the voice of that fitful song

Sings on, and is never still:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

There are things of which I may not speak;

 There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:

A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

And Deering’s Woods are fresh and fair,

And with joy that is almost pain

My heart goes back to wander there,

And among the dreams of the days that were,

I find my lost youth again.

And the strange and beautiful song,

The groves are repeating it still:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

3. Haunted Houses

       by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

All houses wherein men have lived and died

Are haunted houses. Through the open doors

The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,

With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,

Along the passages they come and go,

Impalpable impressions on the air,

A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts

Invited; the illuminated hall

Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,

As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see

The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;

He but perceives what is; while unto me

All that has been is visible and clear.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands;

Owners and occupants of earlier dates

From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,

And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

The spirit-world around this world of sense

Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere

Wafts through these earthly mists and vapoursdense

A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our little lives are kept in equipoise

By opposite attractions and desires;

The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,

And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar

Of earthly wants and aspirations high,

Come from the influence of an unseen star

An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud

Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,

Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd

Into the realm of mystery and night,—

So from the world of spirits there descends

A bridge of light, connecting it with this,

O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,

Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

4. Mending Wall

       by Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. the gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offense.

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,

But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father’s saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

5. I’m From The Middle of Africa

        by Leandre Nsabi

I’m from the middle of Africa,

A country called Congo DR,

Where I grew up

And knew as a friendly place.

At night I would go out

And stare into space,

Look at the stars,

And say, “What a place.”

I’m from the middle of Africa,

A place I love,

A place I miss,

A place full of doves,

A place full of kids,

A place of peace,

A place for fun,

And a place of friendship.

I’m from the middle of Africa,

Where we all love soccer,

Where we play pion (African game for kids),

Where we eat healthy food,

Where we praise the Lord.

I’m from the middle of Africa,

A country called Congo DR.

A country my family lives,

A country my friends live,

A country I loved,

A country I love,

A country I will always love.

I’m from the middle of Africa

In a country called Congo DR.

6. The House With Nobody in It

       by Joyce Kilmer

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track

I go by a poor old farm-house with its shingles broken and black;

I suppose I’ve passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute

And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.

I’ve never seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;

That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.

I know that house isn’t haunted and I wish it were, I do,

For it wouldn’t be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,

And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.

It needs new paint and shingles and vines should be trimmed and tied,

But what it needs most of all is some people living inside.

If I had a bit of money and all my debts were paid,

I’d put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.

I’d buy that place and fix it up the way that it used to be,

And I’d find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.

Now a new home standing empty with staring window and door

Looks idle perhaps and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store,

But there’s nothing mournful about it, it cannot be sad and lone

For the lack of something within it that it has never known.

But a house that has done what a house should do, a house that has sheltered life,

That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,

A house that has echoed a baby’s laugh and helped up his stumbling feet,

Is the saddest sight, when it’s left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track

I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,

Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,

For I can’t help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

7. Our Homestead

       by Phoebe Cary

Our old brown homestead reared its walls,

From the wayside dust aloof,

Where the apple-boughs could almost cast

Their fruitage on its roof:

And the cherry-tree so near it grew,

That when awake I’ve lain,

In the lonesome nights, I’ve heard the limbs,

As they creaked against the pane:

And those orchard trees, O those orchard trees!

I’ve seen my little brothers rocked

In their tops by the summer breeze.

The sweet-brier under the window-sill,

Which the early birds made glad,

And the damask rose by the garden fence

Were all the flowers we had.

I’ve looked at many a flower since then,

Exotics rich and rare,

That to other eyes were lovelier,

But not to me so fair;

O those roses bright, O those roses bright!

I have twined them with my sister’s locks,

That are hid in the dust from sight!

We had a well, a deep old well,

Where the spring was never dry,

And the cool drops down from the mossy stones

Were falling constantly:

And there never was water half so sweet

As that in my little cup,

Drawn up to the curb by the rude old sweep,

Which my father’s hand set up;

And that deep old well, O that deep old well!

I remember yet the splashing sound

Of the bucket as it fell.

Our homestead had an ample hearth,

Where at night we loved to meet;

There my mother’s voice was always kind,

And her smile was always sweet;

And there I’ve sat on my father’s knee,

And watched his thoughtful brow,

With my childish hand in his raven hair,—

That hair is silver now!

But that broad hearth’s light, O that broad hearth’s light!

And my father’s look, and my mother’s smile,—

They are in my heart to-night.

8. A Thankful Heart

       by Robert Herrick

Lord, thou hast given me a cell,

Wherein to dwell;

A little house, whose humble roof

Is weather proof;

Under the spars of which I lie

Both soft and dry;

Where thou, my chamber for to ward,

Hast set a guard

Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep

Me, while I sleep.

Low is my porch, as is my fate;

Both void of state;

And yet the threshold of my door

Is worn by th’ poor,

Who thither come, and freely get

Good words, or meat.

Like as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen’s small;

A little buttery, and therein

A little bin,

Which keeps my little loaf of bread

Unchipt, unflead;

Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar

Make me a fire,

Close by whose living coal I sit,

And glow like it.

Lord, I confess too, when I dine,

The pulse is thine,

And all those other bits that be

There placed by thee;

The worts, the purslain, and the mess

Of water-cress,

Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;

And my content

Makes those, and my belovèd beet,

To be more sweet.

’Tis thou that crown’st my glittering hearth

With guiltless mirth,

And giv’st me wassail bowls to drink,

Spiced to the brink.

Lord, ’tis thy plenty-dropping hand

That soils my land,

And giv’st me, for my bushel sown,

Twice ten for one;

Thou mak’st my teeming hen to lay

Her egg each day;

Besides, my healthful ewes to bear

Me twins each year;

The while the conduits of my kine

Run cream, for wine:

All these, and better, thou dost send

Me, to this end,—

That I should render, for my part,

A thankful heart;

Which, fired with incense, I resign,

As wholly thine;

—But the acceptance, that must be,

My Christ, by Thee.

9. Home Memories

       by Kate Slaughter Mckinney

I am thinking of a cottage

Where the roses used to bloom,

How they talked beside the pavement

In low whispers of perfume,

Or climbed up beside the window

To look in my little room.

I am thinking of the door-way

Where the vine I used to train,

That snowed down its flaky petals

With a pleasant summer rain;

Where I used to sit and listen

To the old mill’s low refrain.

I’m thinking of the sunflower, too,

That towered above the gate;

Of the friends who called me hither

When the day was cool and late.

Ah! those hours seem so distant

And the year, an ancient date.

I am thinking of the grape-vine

Where the crippled robin fed,

How he lingered there each morning

’Till fresh crumbs for him were spread.

Is he feeding there this summer

From a stranger’s hand, instead?

I am thinking of the children

Who crept to the little yard,

Begging me to grant permission

That they play upon the sward.

Could I bar them from the entry?

Thus might Heaven me discard.

I am thinking of a morning

That wrung from my heart a sigh,

When I kissed warm lips that trembled,

With a tear-drop in my eye;

While I closed our cottage windows

And pronounced the word—good-bye.

10. My Old Prairie Home

       by Ed Blair

Dear old home of my youth in the long, long ago,

Where the sunshine each morn filled the air,

Where the meadow lark rose from the tall prairie grass

As it warbled its sweet carols there.

Oh I think of that home dear old home far away

That was then on the wild prairie wide,

Where each night I was tucked in the old trundle bed

On the floor by the old fireside.

In my fancy I see once again the old home,

Dear log house father built long ago,

Its steep roof made of slabs and its chimney of stone,

With my name roughly carved below.

There it stood many years ere another was built

On the prairie around anywhere,

And its light was a guide to the traveler lone,

And its doors ever welcomed him there.

There at night music sweet from the old violin

Floated out on the sweet, balmy air,

While I drifted to sleep in the old trundle bed—

Peaceful sleep without ever a care.

Oh bring back again the old home of my youth

Where the grass rolled like waves of the sea,

Where the dear wild flowers bloomed, where the lark sang so sweet,

Oh my old prairie home let me see!

There the low muffled tone of the prairie hen’s mate

Floated in from the prairie around,

And away in the distance the wild deer roamed free,

Then unknown the fierce bay of the hound,

And at noon dear Bob White from the hedge piped his strain,

Coming night brought the dove’s mournful lay,

And the song of the cricket and Katy-did rang

From the grass till the breaking of day.

Poems about Home That Rhyme

Home is the one place we know we are loved and cherished for who we are. It’s difficult to put into words what it’s like to return home after a long absence, but these rhyming poems about home express precisely that.

1. Returning

       by Emily Dickinson

I years had been from home,

And now, before the door,

I dared not open, lest a face

I never saw before

Stare vacant into mine

And ask my business there.

My business, — just a life I left,

Was such still dwelling there?

I fumbled at my nerve,

I scanned the windows near;

The silence like an ocean rolled,

And broke against my ear.

I laughed a wooden laugh

That I could fear a door,

Who danger and the dead had faced,

But never quaked before.

I fitted to the latch

My hand, with trembling care,

Lest back the awful door should spring,

And leave me standing there.

I moved my fingers off

As cautiously as glass,

And held my ears, and like a thief

Fled gasping from the house.

2. At Home

       by Emily Dickinson

The night was wide, and furnished scant

With but a single star,

That often as a cloud it met

Blew out itself for fear.

The wind pursued the little bush,

And drove away the leaves

November left; then clambered up

And fretted in the eaves.

No squirrel went abroad;

A dog’s belated feet

Like intermittent plush were heard

Adown the empty street.

To feel if blinds be fast,

And closer to the fire

Her little rocking-chair to draw,

And shiver for the poor,

The housewife’s gentle task.

“How pleasanter,” said she

Unto the sofa opposite,

“The sleet than May — no thee!”

3. The Return

       by Emily Dickinson

Though I get home how late, how late!

So I get home, ‘t will compensate.

Better will be the ecstasy

That they have done expecting me,

When, night descending, dumb and dark,

They hear my unexpected knock.

Transporting must the moment be,

Brewed from decades of agony!

To think just how the fire will burn,

Just how long-cheated eyes will turn

To wonder what myself will say,

And what itself will say to me,

Beguiles the centuries of way!

4. The Homestead

       by Bliss Carman

Here we came when love was young.

Now that love is old,

Shall we leave the floor unswept

And the hearth acold?

Here the hill-wind in the dusk,

Wandering to and fro,

Moves the moonflowers, like a ghost

Of the long ago.

Here from every doorway looks

A remembered face,

Every sill and panel wears

A familiar grace.

Let the windows smile again

To the morning light,

And the door stand open wide

When the moon is bright.

Let the breeze of twilight blow

Through the silent hall,

And the dreaming rafters hear

How the thrushes call.

Oh, be merciful and fond

To the house that gave

All its best to shelter love,

Built when love was brave!

Here we came when love was young,

Now that love is old,

Never let its day be lone,

Nor its heart acold!

5. Sea-Birds

       by Elizabeth Akers

O lonesome sea-gull, floating far

Over the ocean’s icy waste,

Aimless and wide thy wanderings are,

Forever vainly seeking rest:—

Where is thy mate, and where thy nest?

‘Twixt wintry sea and wintry sky,

Cleaving the keen air with thy breast,

Thou sailest slowly, solemnly;

No fetter on thy wing is pressed:—

Where is thy mate, and where thy nest?

O restless, homeless human soul,

Following for aye thy nameless quest,

The gulls float, and the billows roll;

Thou watchest still, and questionest:—

Where is thy mate, and where thy nest?

6. The Homestead

       by M. P. A. Crozier

The years, like humming birds,

Just poised a moment on the wing,

To sip the nectar from the cup

Of life’s sweet offering;

The homestead’s old familiar halls,

The grassy meadow where I played,

The orchard with its melting fruit,

And soft refreshing shade;

The blacksmith-shop where, all day long,

My noble father toiled and sang,

Where in the morning and at eve,

The music of the anvil rang;

The garden with its spreading vines,

Its roses and its daffodils;

The dark old forest in the east;

Beyond the heaven-aspiring hills.

7. Home

       by Eliza And Sarah Wolcott

Home has a thousand pleasing bands,

A thousand charms are there;

At home we form our wisest plans,

And all our schemes prepare.

Home is a safe, a calm retreat,

To rest the weary soul;

Home makes one’s happiness complete,

Where love commands the whole.

At home, congenial souls we find,

We breathe in native air;

At home our thoughts are unconfin’d,—

Security is there.

Deception finds no place at home,

No false or vain applause;

Thrice blessed home! ah, who would roam

Without a powerful cause.

Some lose their sympathies abroad,

By fashion’s changing laws;

Some lose their Bible, and their God,

And never know the cause.

But some remember home at last,

Where first they lisp’d a prayer;

And beg for pardon for the past,

And now the promise share.

8. Home

       by Tonia

Each morning I awake,

And always I am glad,

so gladness I ought not fake,

for there’s no reason to be sad,

as far as I’m at home.

Each term when I return,

my joy I can’t contain,

all my worries I burn,

and easy is peace to obtain,

the reason is I’m at home.

When I recall the trouble,

and my most stupid mistake,

I hardly ever fumble,

and my shame doesn’t wake,

just because I’m at home.

If elsewhere I will fear,

but here I feel secure,

here illness is so rare,

and I know here lies my cure,

for here is none other but home.

9. Sweet Memories of Growing Up

       by Rachell A. Rennee

moonlight dancing, raindrops glistening,

splash, laugh, smile, run

oh, what a time, remembering when

climbing trees, yelling “you’re it,”

rolling down hills, jumping leaves

catch with my pup, racing the wind

curled up with my kitten

purring songs of love

peeking around the corner

seeing my father, working hard

glancing back, pretending not to see

mother in the kitchen making dinner

humming tunes, sweet as smelling flowers

10. The Home-Sick Heart

       by John Imlah

How fondly loves the home-sick heart

To ponder o’er the past,

And pines for scenes then far apart,

To dwell—to die at last;

Though richer vales, and balmier gales,

May tempt the wanderer’s stay,

His heart will long to be among

Some scenes far, far away!

Poems about Home And Belonging

The house is a caring, tranquil, and supportive place in which many individuals grow up and find themselves. Here are some poems about home and belonging.

1. Home, Sweet Home!

       by John Howard Payne

‘Mid pleasures and Palaces though we may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home!

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,

Which seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere.

Home! Home! sweet sweet Home!

There’s no place like Home! There’s no place like Home!

An exile from Home Splendour dazzles in vain.

Oh! give me my lowly thatch’d Cottage again!

The Birds singing gaily that came at my call.

Give me them with the peace of mind dearer than all!

Home! Home! sweet sweet Home!

There’s no place like Home! There’s no place like Home!

How sweet ’tis to sit ‘neath a fond father’s smile,

And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile!

Let others delight ‘mid new pleasures to roam,

But give me, oh give me, the pleasures of Home!

Home! Home! sweet sweet Home!

There’s no place like Home! There’s no place like Home!

To thee I’ll return, overburdened with care;

The heart’s dearest solace will smile on me there;

No more from that cottage again will I roam;

Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like Home.

Home! Home! sweet sweet Home!

There’s no place like Home! There’s no place like Home!

2. Morning Windows

       by Amos Russel Wells

The brightest thing a house can do,

When morning fills the skies,

Is just to catch the sun’s first rays,

And flash the brilliant prize.

No eighty-candle lights within

Can match the dazzling sight,

And every window-pane becomes

A fusillade of light!

Thus, thus it is when households kneel

In humble morning prayer.

The very Sun of Righteousness

Is caught and captured there:

And all the day, in all its ways,

However dull they be,

The happy windows of that home

Are scintillant to see!

3. My Cabin Home

       by Florence Kellett

I have a little cabin

That is everything to me—

Behind it, is a mountain

Before it, is the sea.

Around it is the wildness

Of the Island of the West,

It is the only home I know,

The only place of rest.

As I linger in the doorway

To see the setting sun,

My fireside it calls to me

After the day is done.

Oh, dear, dear is my cabin

Beyond all earthly worth,

I would not, could not, change it now

For anything on earth.

And I have traveled far and wide

O’er many and many a sea

But nothing now shall ever take

My cabin home from me.

God bless the hills of Ireland,

God bless its heart so true,

God give me strength and grace to live,

For many a year with you!

4. A Rainy Sunday

       by Ruby Archer

I love a rainy Sunday,

With all the world away;

The cozy hearth intensified

By gloom of outer day.

In silken gown fantastic,

I let my hair go free,

And idle in and out of books,

Or weave a melody.

The rain beyond the window

Chants on in monotone;

I muse among my household gods,

And laugh—to be alone.

The family is drowsy,

The very cat asleep;

And naught comes nigh my revery,

Growing in silence deep.

My books are dear companions,

My pictures well-loved friends,

My brown divan with Orient grace

A dreamy languor lends.

Come often, rainy Sundays,

Forbidding me to roam—

Come often, shut the world without,

And me within my home.

5. The Deserted Cabin

       by Ruby Archer

Lone, it lingers on the mountain

With no sign or sound of life;

No sweet, happy, household cadence,

Laugh of child or song of wife.

How it stares adown the valley

With those hard and hollow eyes,

As if waiting, empty-hearted,

Hopeless, for some sweet surprise.

All the doors have broken hinges,

Rails have fallen from the fence;

High the dove-cote leans, abandoned,

Lonely birds have wandered hence.

Mosses creep through every crevice,

Sunshine bars the vacant floor,

And a yellow ox-eyed daisy

Peeps in wonder through the door.

Yonder windmill turning, turning,

In the old accustomed way,

Feels a sympathy in moving

With the winds that sigh alway:

“We have lost the waving tresses

Of a little golden head.

We can find no touch responsive.—

All but memory is dead.”

6. The Smoke of Cottage Chimneys

       by Arthur Goodenough

The smoke of cottage chimneys,

To fill the sky’s blue cap,

Like sacrificial vapors,

Through all the earth go up;

A goodly sight and pleasant,

For every eye to see,

So potently suggestive,

Of thrift and harmony.

The smoke of cottage chimneys,

For me has wondrous charm,

And brings me glowing visions,

Of hearth fires snug and warm;

Where happy children gather

About the cheerful glow,

And vainly try to number

The sparks that upward go.

The smoke of cottage chimneys,

As I see it upward roll,

Brings a sense of reassurance,

And of gladness to my soul;

For I know whatever crumbles,

Under fate’s remorseless stroke,

There is safety for the Nation

While the cottage chimneys smoke.

States may flourish, states may perish,

Empires totter to their fall,

But the smoke of cottage chimneys,

Will endure beyond it all.

And the smoke of cottage chimneys

Is a grander thing to me,

Than the hosts of War assembled,

Or the battle fleets at sea.

7. Sunlight in Your Home

       by Stopford A. Brooke

If you would have sunlight in your home,

See that you have work in it:

That you work yourself and set others to work.

Nothing makes moroseness and heavy-heartedness

In a house so fast as idleness.

The very children gloom and sulk if they are

Left with nothing to do.

Every day there is the light of something conquered

in the eyes of those who work.

In such a house, if there be also the good temper of love,

sunshine never ceases.

Sunlight comes with work.

8. The Old, Old Home

       by Anonymous

When I long for sainted memories,

Like angel troops they come,

If I fold my arms to ponder

On the old, old home.

The heart has many passages

Through which the feelings roam,

But its middle aisle is sacred

To the thoughts of old, old home.

Where infancy was sheltered

Like rosebuds from the blast,

Where girlhood’s brief elysium

In joyousness was passed;

To that sweet spot forever,

As to some hallowed dome,

Life’s pilgrim bends her vision –

‘Tis her old, old home.

A father sat, how proudly,

By the old hearthstone’s rays,

And told his children stories

Of his early manhood’s days;

And one soft eye was beaming,

From child to child ‘twould roam;

Thus a mother counts her treasures

In the old, old home.

The birthday gifts and festivals,

The blended vesper hymn,

(Some dear one who was swelling it,

Is with the seraphim.)

The fond “good nights” at bedtime,

How quietly sleep would come,

And fold us all together

In the old, old home.

Like a wreath of scented flowers

Close intertwined each heart;

Though time and change in concert

Have blown the wreath apart;

But dear and sainted memories

Like angels ever come,

If I fold my eyes and ponder

9. Home And Love

       by Robert William Service

Just Home and Love! the words are small

Four little letters unto each;

And yet you will not find in all

The wide and gracious range of speech

Two more so tenderly complete:

When angels talk in Heaven above,

I’m sure they have no words more sweet

Than Home and Love.

Just Home and Love! it’s hard to guess

Which of the two were best to gain;

Home without Love is bitterness;

Love without Home is often pain.

No! each alone will seldom do;

Somehow they travel hand and glove:

If you win one you must have two,

Both Home and Love.

And if you’ve both, well then I’m sure

You ought to sing the whole day long;

It doesn’t matter if you’re poor

With these to make divine your song.

And so I praisefully repeat,

When angels talk in Heaven above,

There are no words more simply sweet

Than Home and Love.

10. Home And Homeless

       by Arun Maji

O human,

why you wander so lost and helpless?

Are you abandoned? Orphan? Homeless?

Find a home o human, find a home.

Home is not a space

walled by bricks or stones.

Home is not a land

bordered by sea or mountain.

Home is where most peace is.

Home is where heart’s dance is.

Home is where soul’s song is.

Home can be anything, and everything.

Baby’s home is his mother’s breasts.

Musician’s home is sound’s resonance.

Lover’s home is his beloved’s embrace.

Bhakta’s home is his Prabhu’s grace.

If home is everywhere,

then why you wander homeless o human

why you wander homeless?

11. Warning for Those That Want to Bring The Broken into Their Home

       by Patricia Kelley

I want to warn those who want to bring the broken into their home.

There will be shock and awe in your home.

Some have never tasted the food that comes from a real home.

Some have never been embraced from the love of a home.

Some will be jealous of your home.

And some will set out to destroy relationships in your home.

Some you will not be able to handle in your home.

And some will ruin your home.

Be careful whom you let into your home.

Like a thief in the night that sets out to steal, kill and destroy what’s all in your home.

And don’t forget about the garden that compliments your home.

Some will cut and burn the hammock in the memorial garden that brought special memory to your home.

And some will kill the flowers that cascade your home.

Because their jealous of your home!

In their minds you don’t deserve a home!

And the loving pet that sits in your lap in the comfortable chair in your home.

Don’t be surprised if it disappears from your home….

Contemporary Poems about Home

The importance of a home in human life cannot be overstated. Home is where we maintain our family, where we feel protected, and where we have total freedom. Here are some contemporary poems about home.

1. Kneeling With Herrick

       by James Whitcomb Riley

Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent.—

Give me content—

Full-pleasured with what comes to me,

What e’er it be:

An humble roof—a frugal board,

And simple hoard;

The wintry fagot piled beside

The chimney wide,

While the enwreathing flames up-sprout

And twine about

The brazen dogs that guard my hearth

And household worth:

Tinge with the ember’s ruddy glow

The rafters low;

And let the sparks snap with delight,

As ringers might

That mark deft measures of some tune

The children croon:

Then, with good friends, the rarest few

Thou holdest true,

Ranged round about the blaze, to share

My comfort there,—

Give me to claim the service meet

That makes each seat

A place of honor, and each guest

Loved as the rest.

2. His Coming

       by Amos Russel Wells

Were a king to come to my lowly home,

Or a prince or a duke or an earl,

What a cleansing would furbish the whole of the house,

Till it shone as pure as a pearl!

How the best that I had, on the floor and the bed,

On table and mantel and wall,

Would gladly be lavished and eagerly spread,

And I be ashamed of it all!

Yet the Monarch of mouarchs, the Only Supreme,

The Lord whom the heavens obey,

The Splendor that passes the height of a dream,

Will visit my household to-day;

And the shutters are closed, and the cobwebs are thick,

And a hinge is off of the door,

And I, in a garment of wretchedness clad,

Am down in the dirt on the floor!

3. The Little Front Gate

       by Kate Slaughter Mckinney

A way from the world and its bustle,

When the daylight grows pleasant and late;

In our own cosy cot, I am waiting

For the slam of the little front gate.

The birds at the doorway are singing,

The roses their beauty debate;

But I sit here alone, and I listen

For the slam of the little front gate.

Sometimes, ere the shadows of twilight

Send the roving bird home to its mate,

I list for a hurrying footstep,

And the slam of the little front gate.

O! you who are burdened with sorrow,

And believe that life is but fate,

Learn from me there is joy in waiting

For the slam of the little front gate.

4. A Warm House And A Ruddy Fire

       by Edgar A. Guest

A warm house and a ruddy fire,

To what more can man aspire?

Eyes that shine with love aglow,

Is there more for man to know?

Whether home be rich or poor,

If contentment mark the door

He who finds it good to live

Has the best that life can give.

This the end of mortal strife!

Peace at night to sweeten life,

Rest when mind and body tire,

At contentment’s ruddy fire.

Rooms where merry songs are sung,

Happy old and glorious young;

These, if perfect peace be known,

Both the rich and poor must own.

A warm house and a ruddy fire,

These the goals of all desire,

These the dream of every man

Since God spoke and life began.

5. Oh Erin, My Home

       by Florence Kellett

Oh Erin, my home,

I am coming to thee,

Across desert and mountain

And river and sea.

To the dear little cabin

The place I was born

Mid the wave of the rye

And the gleam of the corn.

Near the wild rugged mountain,

Where the heather grows free,

And the wild rose unfettered

Creeps down to the sea.

Oh land of the gray mist,

Of sunshine and rain,

In thy rapturous beauty

I see thee again.

Oh, the breath of the bog land,

And the smell of the peat,

And the flowers all gleaming

Like stars at my feet.

Soon, soon, I’ll be with you,

Then, never to part,

I shall dream my last dream

In the land of my heart.

What a home for a wanderer

When the storms are past,

In the green isle of Erin

There’ll be rest at the last.

6. Home

       by Anonymous

Where we love is home

Home that our feet may leave

But not our hearts.

7. New Home

       by Nancy Hughes

You may have a new address

But we are never far apart.

For a friend like you will always be

In my thoughts and in my heart!

8. Home Is Where The Heart Is

       by Anonymous

‘Tis home where’er the heart is,

Where’er its loved ones dwell,

In cities or in cottages,

Thronged haunts or mossy dell.

The heart’s a rover ever,

And thus, on wave and wild,

The maiden with her lover walks,

The mother with her child.

‘Tis bright where’er the heart is;

Its fairy spell can bring

Fresh fountains to the wilderness,

And to the desert spring.

Green isles are in the ocean

O’er which affection glides,

A haven on each sunny shore,

When love’s the sun that guides.

‘Tis free where’er the heart is;

Nor chains nor dungeons dim

May check the mind’s aspiring thought,

The spirit’s pealing hymn.

The heart gives life its beauty,

Its glory, and its powers;

‘Tis sunlight to its rippling stream,

And soft dew to its flowers.

9. Home

       by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

And where we love is home.

Home that our feet may leave,

But not our hearts;

The chain may lengthen,

But it never parts.

10. What House to Like

       by Anonymous

Some love the glow of outward show,

Some love mere wealth and try to win it;

The house to me may lowly be,

If I but like the people in it.

What’s all the gold that glitters cold,

When linked to hard or haughty feeling?

Whate’er we ‘re told, the noble gold

Is truth of heart and manly dealing.

Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,

Mere fashion’s smile and try to win it;

The house to me may lowly be,

If I but like the people in it.

A lowly roof may give us proof

That lowly flowers are often fairest;

And trees whose bark is hard and dark

May yield us fruit and bloom the rarest.

There’s worth as sure ‘neath garments poor

As e’er adorned a loftier station;

And minds as just as those, we trust,

Whose claim is but of wealth’s creation.

Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,

Mere fashion’s smile, and try to win it;

The house to me may lowly be,

If I but like the people in it.

Final Thoughts

So, did you like the poems for home we shared with you?

We really hope that you had a great time going through them.

For some, home is a location they love and feel safe in, whilst for others, home is the people who make life worthwhile.

Whether we’ve been gone for work or for pleasure, nothing beats the sense of returning to our own home.

These home poems will also remind you how important home is for us to feel welcomed and protected.

Give us your thoughts at the end of the article. It would be much appreciated!

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