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My House, I Say
by
Robert Louis Stevenson


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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.
This poem is in the public domain.

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 - 1894) was a Scottish author whose gift for writing ranged from poetry and fiction to travelogues and essays. For many of us, Stevenson was perhaps the first poet to whom we were introduced, through his wonderful book, A Child's Garden of Verses. We may have encountered him again in our youth, in the exotic pages of Kidnapped, Treasure Island, and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Always sickly, Robert left his beloved Scotland and spent the latter half of his life in the kinder climate of the South Sea islands. He died much too young and is buried in Samoa, where his tomb is engraved with lines from his poem, "Requiem:" "Under the wide and starry sky/dig the grave and let me lie."

         

Post New Comment:
Joe Sottile:
Clever!
Posted 07/14/2012 06:15 PM
Marilyn L Taylor:
Stevenson is a delight, always, and who can't relate to this poem? Wish the literary historians treated him with a little more respect as a poet.
Posted 07/14/2012 12:06 PM
KevinArnold:
RL Stevenson seldom misses, certainly not with this one.
Posted 07/14/2012 09:10 AM
Julianne Carlile:
I still have my copy of a Child's Garden of Verses.
Posted 07/14/2012 07:09 AM


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