Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HOME'S A NEST by WILLIAM BARNES

Poet Analysis

First Line: HERE UNDER THE PORCH'S GREY BOW
Last Line: NOT OUR OWN, BUT OUR FATHER'S GOOD WILL.
Subject(s): HOME;
A Father (@3F.@1) and a Neighbor or Chorus of Neighbors (@3C.@1)

@3F.@1 HERE under the porch's grey bow,
All my children have shot to and fro,
With a sleek little head.
@3C.@1 Home's nest.

@3F.@1 Here are windows where hills, in the blue
Of the sky, so long shone to their view,
And the sun's evening red -- darted in,
And the nooks where their toetips all sprang,
And the walls and the places that rang
With their high-screaming din.
@3C.@1 Home's a nest;
O home is a nest of the spring,
Where children may grow to take wing.

@3F.@1 As small-footed maidens here walk'd
By their mother, their little tongues talk'd
To her downlooking face.
@3C.@1 Home's a nest.

@3F.@1 And the boys trotted on at my side,
With the two-steps they put to one stride
Of my big-footed pace: -- and now each
Is withdrawn from our side and our hand,
And the oldest as far as the land
Of old England may reach.
@3C.@1 Home's a nest;
A nest where the young folk are bred
Up, to take on the work of the dead.

@3F.@1 And here, when the boys had begun
At their sisters with bantering fun,
How brisk was each tongue
@3C.@1 Home's a nest.

@3F.@1 Of the girls, who could very soon find
How to pay off their brothers in kind,
Whether older or young, -- and now each
Has his own day of life, and his door,
While his words and his doings no more
To the others may reach.
@3C.@1 Home's a nest,
Where babes may grow women and men,
For the rearing of children again.

@3F.@1 There straight-gaited John, that can show
How to handle a sword with a foe,
Is a comely young man;
@3C.@1 Home's a nest.

@3F.@1 And he swings a good blade by a hand
That has hit a few blows for his land.
And the merry-soul'd Ann; -- oh! a dear,
She is wedded, and taken to turn
Her own cheeses, and roll her own churn,
But a good way from here.
@3C.@1 Home's a nest,
Where our children grow up to take on
Our own places, when we are all gone.

@3F.@1 There is dapper young Joe, that has made
A good jobbing in cattle, his trade,
Is so skillful of mind,
@3C.@1 Home's a nest,

@3F.@1 That the while any bullock might blare,
He would know her all round, every hair;
And my Fanny, so kind -- and so mild,
That I often would hope she might stay
At my hearth, she is taken away,
Ay, my Fanny, dear child!
@3C.@1 Home's a nest,
All forsaken, when children have flown,
Like a nest in bush-top alone.

@3F.@1 There is Jim, that the neighbors all round
Made their pet, is now gone, and is bound
To a very good trade.
@3C.@1 Home's a nest.

@3F.@1 Though his head is as thoughtless, a lout,
As the ball he would hit so about,
In the games that they play'd, -- and he's near;
But my Willie is gone from my door,
And too far to come back any more,
Any more to come here.
@3C.@1 Home's a nest,
Where our children are bred to fulfil
Not our own, but our Father's good will.



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