My House, I Say

Robert Louis Stevenson

 
My house, I say. But hark to the sunny doves   
That make my roof the arena of their loves,   
That gyre about the gable all day long   
And fill the chimneys with their murmurous song:   
Our house, they say; and mine, the cat declares  
And spreads his golden fleece upon the chairs;   
And mine the dog, and rises stiff with wrath   
If any alien foot profane the path.   
So, too, the buck that trimmed my terraces,   
Our whilom gardener, called the garden his;
Who now, deposed, surveys my plain abode   
And his late kingdom, only from the road.
 

Poems by This Author

After Reading "Antony and Cleopatra" by Robert Louis Stevenson
As when the hunt by holt and field
Bed in Summer by Robert Louis Stevenson
In winter I get up at night
Block City by Robert Louis Stevenson
What are you able to build with your blocks?
Christmas at Sea by Robert Louis Stevenson
The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand
Envoy by Robert Louis Stevenson
Go, little book, and wish to all
My Shadow by Robert Louis Stevenson
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me
My Wife by Robert Louis Stevenson
Trusty, dusky, vivid, true
Picture-books in Winter by Robert Louis Stevenson
Summer fading, winter comes
Pirate Story by Robert Louis Stevenson
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing
Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Under the wide and starry sky
Summer Sun by Robert Louis Stevenson
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
The Celestial Surgeon by Robert Louis Stevenson
If I have faltered more or less
The Dumb Soldier by Robert Louis Stevenson
When the grass was closely mown,
The Land of Counterpane by Robert Louis Stevenson
When I was sick and lay a-bed
The Land of Nod by Robert Louis Stevenson
From Breakfast on through all the day
The Land of Story-books by Robert Louis Stevenson
At evening when the lamp is lit
The Sick Child by Robert Louis Stevenson
O Mother, lay your hand on my brow!
The Swing by Robert Louis Stevenson
To My Mother by Robert Louis Stevenson
You too, my mother, read my rhymes
Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson
I should like to rise and go
Underwoods: Epigram by Robert Louis Stevenson
Of all my verse, like not a single line
Where Go the Boats? by Robert Louis Stevenson
Dark brown is the river
Windy Nights by Robert Louis Stevenson
Whenever the moon and stars are set
Winter-Time by Robert Louis Stevenson
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed


Further Reading

Poems About Home
9773 Comanche Ave.
by David Trinidad
Notebook of a Return to the Native Land [excerpt]
by Aimé Césaire
Birthplace
by Michael Cirelli
Daily
by Naomi Shihab Nye
Dusting
by Marilyn Nelson
Evangelize Your Love
by Jillian Weise
Fishing on the Susquehanna in July
by Billy Collins
He Foretells His Passing
by F. D. Reeve
Home is so Sad
by Philip Larkin
On the Disadvantages of Central Heating
by Amy Clampitt
Opus 80
by Arthur Davison Ficke
Otherwise
by Jane Kenyon
Proclamation
by Stuart Dischell
Psalm of Home Redux
by David Lee
Steppingstone
by Andrew Hudgins
Sysiphusina
by Shira Dentz
Te Deum
by Charles Reznikoff
The Bedroom
by Paula Bohince
The Cabbage
by Ruth Stone
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
by W. B. Yeats
This Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams
Untitled [I grew up in North Adams]
by Brenda Iijima
Wonder Cabinet
by Tina Chang