A weary speaker comes home to his small room, expecting the cosy embrace of firelight and a familiar chair. But as he enters, he sees a woman sitting there—the line of her neck and cheek, the darkness of her hair. He stops, tense and still, then steps toward her, only to find the chair empty. It was just a trick of shifting light and shadow. Yet the illusion shatters his peace. He lies awake all night, watching moonlight crawl slowly from wall to basin, unable to sleep. The feeling is one of uncanny loneliness, a quiet ache that turns a simple room into a place of longing. That brief, vivid figure—maybe a memory of someone lost, maybe a desire given shape by exhaustion—leaves him haunted. The mood is hushed and sorrowful, like sitting alone with a wish that slips away the moment you try to touch it. Home, here, is not a refuge but a hollow space where absence makes itself felt.
Home — Summary
I came back late and tired last night Into my little room, To the long chair and the firelight And comfortable gloom.
But as I entered softly in I saw a woman there, The line of neck and cheek and chin, The darkness of her hair, The form of one I did not know Sitting in my chair.
I stood a moment fierce and still, Watching her neck and hair. I made a step to her; and saw That there was no one there.
It was some trick of the firelight That made me see her there. It was a chance of shade and light And the cushion in the chair.
Oh, all you happy over the earth, That night, how could I sleep? I lay and watched the lonely gloom; And watched the moonlight creep From wall to basin, round the room, All night I could not sleep.