Skip to content
Linespedia

Thoughts of Home.1

By Arthur Hugh Clough

Topics: classic

I watched them from the window, thy children at their play,     And I thought of all my own dear friends, who were far, oh, far away,     And childish loves, and childish cares, and a childs own buoyant gladness     Came gushing back again to me with a soft and solemn sadness;     And feelings frozen up full long, and thoughts of long ago,     Seemed to be thawing at my heart with a warm and sudden flow.     I looked upon thy children, and I thought of all and each,     Of my brother and my sister, and our rambles on the beach,     Of my mothers gentle voice, and my mothers beckoning hand,     And all the tales she used to tell of the far, far English land;     And the happy, happy evening hours, when I sat on my fathers knee,     Oh! many a wave is rolling now betwixt that seat and me!     And many a day has passed away since, I left them oer the sea,     And I have lived a life since then of boyhoods thoughtless glee;     Yet of the blessed times gone by not seldom would I dream,     And childhoods joy, like faint far stars, in memorys heaven would gleam,     And oer the sea to those I loved my thoughts would often roam,     But never knew I until now the blessings of a home!     I used to think when I was there that my own true home was here,     But home is not in land or sky, but in those whom each holds dear.     The evenings cooling breeze is fanning my temples now,     But then my frame was languid, and heated was my brow,     And I longed for Englands cool, and for Englands breezes then,     But now I would give full many a breeze to be back in the heat again.     But when cold strange looks without, and proud high thoughts within,     Are weaving round my heart the woof of selfishness and sin;     When self begins to roll a far, a worse and wider sea     Of careless and unloving thoughts between those friends and me,     I will think upon these moments, and call to mind the day     When I watched them from the window, thy children at their play.

AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.

About this line

"I watched them from the window, thy children at their play,..."

This evocative piece by Arthur Hugh Clough, titled "Thoughts of Home.1", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...

Attribution & Rights

Author:Arthur Hugh Clough

"I watched them from the window, thy children at th..." by Arthur Hugh Clough

For usage rights, copyright concerns, or to report an issue with this content, please visit our Copyright & Report page.

Related lines

"Cease, empty Faith, the Spectrum saith,     I was, and lo, have been;     I, God, am nought: a shade of thought,     Which, but by darkness see"

"These are the words of Jacobs wives, the words     Which Leah spake and Rachel to his ears,     When, in the shade at eventide, he sat     By"

"To spend uncounted years of pain,     Again, again, and yet again,     In working out in heart and brain     The problem of our being here;"

"On grass, on gravel, in the sun,     Or now beneath the shade,     They went, in pleasant Kensington,     A prentice and a maid.     That Sun"

"Here morning in the ploughman's songs is met     Ere yet one footstep shows in all the sky,     And twilight in the east, a doubt as yet,     S"

"The Text is taken from Percy's Reliques (1765), vol. i. p. 71, 'given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland.' Herd had a very similar bal"

Arthur Hugh Clough

About Arthur Hugh Clough

Arthur Hugh Clough (1819–1861) was an English poet whose work explores Victorian doubt and moral uncertainty. His poems "Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth" and "The Latest Decalogue" are sharp, thoughtful, and still widely anthologized.

Full Bibliography
Continue Reading

"Cease, empty Faith, the Spectrum saith,     I was,..."

Weekly Poetic Insight

Join our literary Sanctuary

Get the most inspiring lines, poetic analysis, and secret shayaris delivered to your inbox every Sunday.