Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ROOM OF THE HOUSEHOLD, by ELIZA COOK


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ROOM OF THE HOUSEHOLD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: There's a room I love dearly - the sanctum of bliss
Last Line: With a tinge on my cheek and content in my breast.
Subject(s): Contentment; Home; Rooms


There's a room I love dearly -- the sanctum of bliss,
That holds all the comforts I least like to miss;
Where, like ants in a hillock, we run in and out,
Where sticks grace the corner, and hats lie about;
Where no idlers dare come to annoy or amuse
With their "morning call" budget of scandalous news;
'Tis the room of the household -- the sacredly free;
'Tis the room of the household that's dearest to me.

The romp may be fearlessly carried on there,
For no "bijouterie" rubbish solicits our care;
All things are as meet for the hand as the eye,
And patchwork and scribbling unheeded may lie;
Black Tom may be perched on the sofa or chairs,
He may stretch his sharp talons or scatter his hairs;
Wet boots may "come in," and the ink drop may fall,
For the room of the household is "liberty hall."

There is something unpleasant in company days,
When saloons are dressed out for Terpsichore's maze;
When the graceful Mazourka and Weippert-led band
Leave the plain country-dance people all at a stand.
There's more mirth in the jig and the amateur's strum,
When the parchment-spread battledore serves as a drum;
When Apollo and Momus together unite,
Till the household room rings with our laughing delight.

Other rooms may be thickly and gorgeously stored
With your Titians, Murillos, Salvator, and Claude;
But the Moreland and Wilkie that hang on the wall
Of the family parlor out-value them all.
The gay ottomans, claiming such special regard.
Are exceedingly fine, but exceedingly hard;
They may serve for state purpose -- but go, if you please,
To the household room cushions for comfort and ease.

And the book-shelves -- where tomes of all sizes are spread,
Not placed to be looked at, but meant to be read;
All defaced and bethumbed, and I would not be sworn
But some volumes, perchance the most precious, are torn.
There's the library open, but if your heart yearns,
As all human hearts must, for the song of a Burns,
Or the tale of a "Vickar," that ever rich gem,
You must go to the room of the household for them.

'Tis the shadiest place when the blazing sun flings
His straight rays on the rose and the butterfly's wings;
For the first beams of morning are all that dare peep
Through the windows where myrtle and eglantine creep.
Happy faces assemble with cheerful salute,
When the summer meal tempts with its cream and its fruit;
But the board's not so merry, the meal's not so sweet,
If 'tis out of the room of the household we meet
And that room is the the one that is sought by us still,
When the night-clouds of winter bring darkness and chill;
When the ramblers return from their toil or their play,
And tell o'er the news and the deeds of the day;
When the favoured old dog takes his place on the rug,
Curled up in the fire-light -- all warmly and snug;
While the master sits nodding before the bright flame,
Till the hound snores aloud and the 'Squire does the same.

I have wandered far off over "moorland and lea,"
O'er the fairest of earth and the bluest of sea;
It was health that I sought -- but, alas! I could find
The pursuit was in vain while my heart looked behind:
The room of the household had bound with a spell,
And I knew not till then that I loved it so well.
"Take me back to that room," was my prayer and my cry,
"Or my languishing spirit will sicken and die."

There was ligh in my eye when I saw the green woof
Of old elm trees half screening the turreted roof,
I grew strong as I passed o'er the daisy girt track,
And the Newfoundland sentinel welcomed me back.
But the pulse of my joy was most warmly sincere
When I met the old faces, familiar and dear;
When I lounged in the "household-room," taking my rest,
With a tinge on my cheek and content in my breast.





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