Neighbor Poems

Table of Contents

1. A Time to Talk

   by Robert Frost

   
   

   ►

   ▼

    Full Text

   When a friend calls to me from the road
   And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
   I don’t stand still and look around
   On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
   And shout from where I am, What is it?
   No, not as there is a time to talk.
   I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
   Blade-end up and five feet tall,
   And plod: I go up to the stone wall
   For a friendly visit.
   

2. Who Is My Neighbor?

   by Elizabeth Hedge Webster

   
   

   ►

   ▼

    Full Text

   Who is my neighbor? Not the one
   Who best may please my selfish heart;
   Nor yet the wise and good alone
   Who in my love and joy bear part.
   Perchance the poor, the low, or vile
   My steps may pass and kindness need;
   Such is my neighbor as myself to love,
   The naked clothe, the hungry feed.
   

   If I my neighbor as myself do love,
   I'll treat him as I would that he,
   Our places changed, would do by me,
   As careful, tender, just, and free;
   I'd love to feel his kindness flow
   In patient words and gentle deeds
   When burdened I would feel the glow
   From heavenly charity proceeds.
   

3. Thy Neighbor

   by Thomas F. Porter

   
   

   ►

   ▼

    Full Text

   Who is thy neighbor? all who need
   The care and comfort you can give,
   Despite their country or their creed,
   Despite the land in which they live.
   

   Who is thy neighbor? they whose eyes
   Are dimmed by sorrow, pain and grief;
   These claim thy sympathy; arise,
   And carry to such souls relief.
   

   Thy neighbor he whose bleeding feet
   Need shelter from the winter's cold—
   Who gives such shoes or bread to eat
   Have a reward worth more than gold.
   

   Who is thy neighbor? she whose way
   With thorns and brambles sharp are fraught.
   Go! smooth that hard rough road to-day
   And both to heaven were nearer brought.
   

   Thy neighbor he who thirsts for drink
   And soon must fall to depths below—
   Haste! snatch him from that awful brink
   And angel bands thy deed shall know.
   

   Thy neighbor he whose honest name
   The thrusts of scandal deep have slain—
   Fly to him, and in love proclaim
   That this world's hate is heavenly gain.
   

   Who is thy neighbor? all who need
   The care and comfort you can give;
   Despite their country or their creed,
   Despite the land in which they live.
   

4. The Kindly Neighbor

   by Edgar A. Guest

   
   

   ►

   ▼

    Full Text

   I have a kindly neighbor, one who stands
   Beside my gate and chats with me awhile,
   Gives me the glory of his radiant smile
   And comes at times to help with willing hands.
   No station high or rank this man commands,
   He, too, must trudge, as I, the long day's mile;
   And yet, devoid of pomp or gaudy style,
   He has a worth exceeding stocks or lands.
   

   To him I go when sorrow's at my door,
   On him I lean when burdens come my way,
   Together oft we talk our trials o'er
   And there is warmth in each good-night we say.
   A kindly neighbor! Wars and strife shall end
   When man has made the man next door his friend.
   

5. My Neighbor's Mill

   by Kate Slaughter McKinney

   
   

   ►

   ▼

    Full Text

   I love to sit here at the window-sill
   When the sun falls asleep in the West,
   And watch the gray Twilight walk over the hill
   In garments of night partly dressed,
   And see, through the rooms of my neighbor’s mill,
   How she creeps like an unbidden guest.
   

   I love the low hum of the numberless wheels—
   They echo the heart-beats of time,
   Each unto my pen its purpose reveals,
   Like the magic of meter and rhyme;
   Or, as to the soul that in penitence kneels,
   Doth the sound of a slow vesper chime.
   

   We have been friends together, this old mill and I,
   Yes, friends that are true, tried, and strong;
   If over us gather a gray winter sky
   We faced it sometimes with a song,
   Or braved it in silence, scarce knowing why,
   As together we labored along.
   

   I fancy sometimes as I sit here alone
   With the calm of the night in my heart,
   When from the low roof the pigeons have flown,
   And the stars their sweet stories impart,
   That this mill unto me in a strange undertone
   Is speaking as heart unto heart.
   

   That it bids me look into the granary room
   Where the yellow wheat is packed;
   And anon to glance in with the sundown’s bloom
   Where the snowy flour is sacked,
   So I look—and it seems in the deepening gloom
   There clouds upon clouds are stacked.
   

   What else do I scan through the moonlight’s lace
   That scallops the window panes;
   Why, the dear old miller’s honest face,
   He’s counting his losses and gains,
   And methinks on his visage I can trace
   A look that my own heart pains.
   

   Ah! think of the thousands his bounty feeds—
   We beggars encircle his door,
   While he scatters alike his bundle of seeds
   To the humble, the rich, and the poor.
   Sure there’s a reward for such generous deeds,
   A reward that is brighter than ore!
   

   But the lights have gone out of my neighbor’s mill,
   And pale grows the red in the West;
   The Night has crept up to my own window-sill
   And pillowed my head on her breast,
   While over the way—how peaceful and still!
   The old mill’s asleep and at rest.
   

6. God's Likeness

   by John B. Tabb

   Not in mine own, but in my neighbor's face,
   Must I Thine image trace:
   Nor he in his, but in the light of mine,
   Behold thy Face Divine.
   

7. Neighbor Chickory

   by Amos Russel Wells

   
   

   ►

   ▼

    Full Text

   Where the stamping horses pass
   And the dust is in the grass,
   By the roadside bare and hot
   Gracing each unlovely spot
   Lo! before our weary eyes
   Shines the blue of summer skies
   

   Gleaming like an azure star
   Where the fiercest sunbeams are,
   Neighbor Chickory bestows
   Such a sense of cool repose,
   In the noon-tide's hottest glare
   It is always evening there.
   

   Oh, to learn the conquering grace
   Of that blossom's tender face!
   Thus victoriously may I
   Where the choking dust-clouds fly
   And life's clamors never cease
   Bring the cooling sense of peace.
   

8. The Crow

   My friend and neighbor through the year,
   Self-appointed overseer
   Of my crops of fruit and grain,
   Of my woods and furrowed plain,
   

   – John Burroughs
   The Crow

   “

   by John Burroughs

   
   

   ►

   ▼

    Full Text

   I
   My friend and neighbor through the year,
   Self-appointed overseer
   

   Of my crops of fruit and grain,
   Of my woods and furrowed plain,
   

   Claim thy tithings right and left,
   I shall never call it theft.
   

   Nature wisely made the law,
   And I fail to find a flaw
   

   In thy title to the earth,
   And all It holds of any worth.
   

   I like thy self-complacent air,
   I like thy ways so free from care,
   

   Thy landlord stroll about my fields,
   Quickly noting what each yields;
   

   Thy courtly mien and bearing bold,
   As if thy claim were bought with gold;
   

   Thy floating shape against the sky,
   When days are calm and clouds are high;
   

   Thy thrifty flight ere rise of sun,
   Thy homing clans when day is done.
   

   Hues protective are not thine,
   So sleek thy coat each quill doth shine.
   

   Diamond black to end of toe,
   Thy counter point the crystal snow.
   

   II
   Never plaintive nor appealing,
   Quite at home when thou art stealing,
   

   Always groomed to tip of feather,
   Calm and trim in every weather,
   

   Morn till night my woods policing,
   Every sound thy watch increasing.
   

   Hawk and owl in treetop hiding
   Feel the shame of thy deriding.
   

   Naught escapes thy observation,
   None but dread thy accusation.
   

   III
   Hunters, prowlers, woodland lovers
   Vainly seek the leafy covers.
   

   Noisy, scheming, and predacious,
   With demeanor almost gracious,
   

   Dowered with leisure, void of hurry,
   Void of fuss and void of worry,
   

   Friendly bandit, Robin Hood,
   Judge and jury of the wood,
   

   Or Captain Kidd of sable quill,
   Hiding treasures in the hill,
   

   Nature made thee for each season,
   Gave thee wit for ample reason,
   

   Good crow wit that's always burnished
   Like the coat her care has furnished.
   

   May thy numbers ne'er diminish!
   I'll befriend thee till life's finish.
   

   May I never cease to meet thee!
   May I never have to eat thee!
   

   And mayest thou never have to fare so
   That thou playest the part of scarecrow!
   

9. The Robin

   My old Welsh neighbor over the way
   Crept slowly out in the sun of spring,
   Pushed from her ears the locks of gray,
   And listened to hear the robin sing.
   

   – John G. Whittier
   The Robin

   “

   by John G. Whittier

   
   

   ►

   ▼

    Full Text

   My old Welsh neighbor over the way
   Crept slowly out in the sun of spring,
   Pushed from her ears the locks of gray,
   And listened to hear the robin sing.
   

   Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped,
   And, cruel in sport as boys will be,
   Tossed a stone at the bird, who hopped
   From bough to bough in the apple-tree.
   

   “Nay!” said the grandmother; “have you not heard,
   My poor, bad boy! of the fiery pit,
   And how, drop by drop, this merciful bird
   Carries the water that quenches it?
   

   “He brings cool dew in his little bill,
   And lets it fall on the souls of sin:
   You can see the mark on his red breast still
   Of fires that scorch as he drops it in.
   

   “My poor Bron rhuddyn! my breast-burned bird,
   Singing so sweetly from limb to limb,
   Very dear to the heart of Our Lord
   Is he who pities the lost like Him!”
   

   “Amen!” I said to the beautiful myth;
   “Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well:
   Each good thought is a drop wherewith
   To cool and lessen the fires of hell.
   

   “Prayers of love like rain-drops fall,
   Tears of pity are cooling dew,
   And dear to the heart of Our Lord are all
   Who suffer like Him in the good they do!”
   

Related Poems