Here is the House to hold me - cradle of all the race; Here is my lord and my love, here are my children dear- Here is the House enclosing, the dear-loved dwelling place; Why should I ever weary for aught that I find not here? Here for the hours of the day and the hours of the night; Bound with the bands of Duty, rivetted tight; Duty older than Adam-Duty that saw Acceptance utter and hopeless in the eyes of the serving squaw. Food and the serving of food-that is my daylong care; What and when we shall eat, what and how we shall wear; Soiling and cleaning of things-that is my task in the main- Soil them and clean them and soil them-soil them and clean them again. To work at my trade by the dozen and never a trade to know; To plan like a Chinese puzzle-fitting and changing so; To think of a thousand details, each in a thousand ways; For my own immediate people and a possible love and praise. My mind is trodden in circles, tiresome, narrow and hard, Useful, commonplace, private-simply a small backyard; And I the Mother of Nations!-Blind their struggle and vain! I cover the earth with my children-each with a housewife's brain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY by ROBERT FROST CHIQUITA by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE GYPSY by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS SONNET: 9. TO THE RIVER LODON by THOMAS WARTON THE YOUNGER THE DESERTED LOVER CONSOLETH HIMSELF ... by THOMAS WYATT THE CORDWRIGHT'S SONG by AUGUSTE DE BELLOY |