Home of my heart, when wilt thou ope Thy silent doors to let me in? What! not one glimpse to quicken hope Of all that I aspire to win? So near, and yet so oft denied! The roses on my trellis throw Their heedless scent from side to side, Yet will not whisper what they know. The yellow moon that hangs and peers Amid the icy horns on high Leans to the list'ning earth, yet fears To tell the secret of the sky. O pines that whisper in the wind, When ling'ring herds from pasture come, Breathe somewhat of your steadfast mind, The hour is yours, yet ye are dumb. Sweet answering eyes, you too have learned The secret that you will not tell. I should have known it, but you turned That moment, and the lashes fell. Home of my heart, why stand so cold And silent? there is mirth within: The sun sinks low, the day is old, O let the baffled wand'rer in!
- by Arthur Christopher Benson (1862 - 1925) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Charles Hubert Hastings Parry, Sir (1848 - 1918), "Home of my heart", published 1898 [ satb chorus a cappella ], from Eight Four-part Songs, no. 4 [sung text checked 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Johann Winkler
This text was added to the website: 2020-08-23
Line count: 24
Word count: 166