30 Famous Family Poems - Poems about Family that Will Move You

21. A Cradle Song

By William Blake

Famous Poem

A poem from his book, Songs of Innocence, and of experience by William Blake, a lullaby of unparalleled beauty.

Sweet dreams form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.

Sweet sleep with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.

Sweet smiles in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, Mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.

Sleep sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee,
Thy maker lay and wept for me,

Wept for me for thee for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see.
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,

Smiles on thee on me on all,
Who became an infant small,
Infant smiles are His own smiles,
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

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22. My Papa's Waltz

By Theodore Roethke

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Theodore Roethke is the small boy in this poem. His father died when he was just fifteen. Roethke struggled with mental illness all his life. His first book of poetry, Open House, was published in 1941. His relationship with his father occupied a large part of his writings.
In this poem it is unclear if the memories of his drunk father putting him to bed are happy or sad, abusive or merry, scary or sweet.

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

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23. I Hear America Singing

By Walt Whitman

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Walt Whitman was an American poet who lived from 1819-1892. Some of his poetry was controversial because of the nature of its content, but he is believed to be the father of free verse (but he did not invent this form of poetry). He is also seen as a "poet of democracy" because he wrote so strongly about the American character. In this poem, Whitman shows how America is made up of a variety of people. It's the stories of those people who make America the strong and unique nation that it is.

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day - at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

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24. One Sister Have I In Our House

By Emily Dickinson

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This poem is about Emily Dickinson's sister-in-law, Susan. Emily lived with her sister, Lavinia, ("One Sister have I in our house"), and she had a sister-in-law, Susan, her brother Austin's wife, who lived next door, ("one a hedge away"). "There's only one recorded" (Lavinia is her only biological sister). "But both belong to me" (she considers Susan to be a sister too, although they are actually sisters-in-law).

One Sister have I in our house,
And one, a hedge away.
There's only one recorded,
But both belong to me.

One came the road that I came --
And wore my last year's gown --
The other, as a bird her nest,
Builded our hearts among.

She did not sing as we did --
It was a different tune --
Herself to her a music
As Bumble bee of June.

Today is far from Childhood --
But up and down the hills
I held her hand the tighter --
Which shortened all the miles --

And still her hum
The years among,
Deceives the Butterfly;
Still in her Eye
The Violets lie
Mouldered this many May.

I spilt the dew --
But took the morn --
I chose this single star
From out the wide night's numbers --
Sue - forevermore!

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25. A Holiday

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox was an American poet who lived from 1850-1919. She was known as a poet even before she graduated high school. Many of her poems touch on themes of family and relationships. In this poem, The wife wants her husband to demonstrate he still loves her, "to prove the life of love", by spending quality time over the holiday with her and their children. Quality time on a holiday is how to take care of your family and demonstrate your love, not gifts! The Husband doesn't get it. He thinks she doesn't appreciate his hard work. He is running a business to take care of her, he just bought her a valuable gift and yet she still wants more from him.

The Wife
The house is like a garden,
The children are the flowers,
The gardener should come methinks
And walk among his bowers,
Oh! lock the door on worry
And shut your cares away,
Not time of year, but love and cheer,
Will make a holiday.

The Husband
Impossible! You women do not know
The toil it takes to make a business grow.
I cannot join you until very late,
So hurry home, nor let the dinner wait.

The Wife
The feast will be like Hamlet
Without a Hamlet part:
The home is but a house, dear,
Till you supply the heart.
The Xmas gift I long for
You need not toil to buy;
Oh! give me back one thing I lack -
The love-light in your eye.

The Husband
Of course I love you, and the children too.
Be sensible, my dear, it is for you
I work so hard to make my business pay.
There, now, run home, enjoy your holiday.

The Wife (turning)
He does not mean to wound me,
I know his heart is kind.
Alas! that man can love us
And be so blind, so blind.
A little time for pleasure,
A little time for play;
A word to prove the life of love
And frighten care away!
Tho' poor my lot in some small cot
That were a holiday.

The Husband (musing)
She has not meant to wound me, nor to vex -
Zounds! but 'tis difficult to please the sex.
I've housed and gowned her like a very queen
Yet there she goes, with discontented mien.
I gave her diamonds only yesterday:
Some women are like that, do what you may.

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26. Men At Forty

By Donald Justice

Famous Poem

As time passes, life changes. As people age, they become more reminiscent as they move farther from their childhoods. This poem shows the actions of a man entering the second half of his life. The poem is split into stanzas, but they do not follow a specific rhyme scheme. Donald Justice (1925-2004) was a teacher of poetry, and he experimented with and mastered a variety of poetic techniques.

Men at forty
Learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to.

At rest on a stair landing,
They feel it
Moving beneath them now like the deck of a ship,
Though the swell is gentle.

And deep in mirrors
They rediscover
The face of the boy as he practices trying
His father’s tie there in secret

And the face of that father,
Still warm with the mystery of lather.
They are more fathers than sons themselves now.
Something is filling them, something

That is like the twilight sound
Of the crickets, immense,
Filling the woods at the foot of the slope
Behind their mortgaged houses.

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27. Nurse's Song

By William Blake

Famous Poem

Published in Songs of Innocence in 1789, the poem tells of a Nurse who is watching her children playing out in the fields. She calls them to come in, but they protest, for to them it is still light and there is still time to play.
The poem fits in with the theme of innocence, as the children are oblivious to the dangers of playing outside late at night. The Nurse is of a jovial and warmhearted nature, and she allows the children to continue with their games.

When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.

'Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Come, come leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies.'

'No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.'

'Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed.'
The little ones leapèd, and shoutèd, and laugh'd
And all the hills echoèd.

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28. Those Winter Sundays

By Robert Hayden

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"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden is a poignant exploration of the emotional complexities within a father-child relationship. Through the use of evocative imagery, the poem reveals the speaker's retrospective understanding of the sacrifices made by his father out of love. The stark contrast between the cold mornings and the warmth created by the father's efforts underscores the theme of unspoken love and the son's regret for not appreciating it earlier. This poem delves into the universal theme of the struggle to fully comprehend love's selfless acts and the profound impact they have on one's life.

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?

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29. Daddy

By Sylvia Plath

Famous Poem

In Sylvia Plath's "Daddy," the poet uses powerful and provocative language to explore complex emotions and relationships. Through vivid imagery and metaphor, Plath delves into her feelings of oppression and resentment, particularly towards her father. The poem is marked by its emotional intensity, with the speaker addressing her deceased father in a confrontational and accusatory manner. The use of metaphor, such as comparing her father to a Nazi and herself to a Jew, adds layers of meaning to the poem, while the repetition of "Daddy" underscores the speaker's struggle to come to terms with her father's memory. Plath's choice of words and imagery creates a vivid and emotionally charged narrative that delves into themes of identity, trauma, and catharsis.

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time——
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

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30. To Mother

By Thomas W. Fessenden

Famous Poem

In "To Mother" by Thomas W. Fessenden, the poet pays a heartfelt tribute to his mother's profound influence, using simple yet powerful language. The poem emphasizes that although she didn't create famous artworks or write renowned poems, her impact was divinely felt within their home. Through vivid metaphors, the poet conveys that his mother's actions and values shaped him more profoundly than any art or architecture could. This poem beautifully captures the idea that a mother's love and guidance can be a work of art in itself.

You painted no Madonnas
On chapel walls in Rome,
But with a touch diviner
You lived one in your home.

You wrote no lofty poems
That critics counted art,
But with a nobler vision
You lived them in your heart.

You carved no shapeless marble
To some high-souled design,
But with a finer sculpture
You shaped this soul of mine.

You built no great cathedrals
That centuries applaud,
But with a grace exquisite
Your life cathedraled God.

Had I the gift of Raphael,
Or Michelangelo,
Oh, what a rare Madonna
My mother's life would show!

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Famous Family Poems - Page 2

21. A Cradle Song

A poem from his book, Songs of Innocence, and of experience by William Blake, a lullaby of unparalleled beauty.

22. My Papa's Waltz

23. I Hear America Singing

24. One Sister Have I In Our House

25. A Holiday

26. Men At Forty

27. Nurse's Song

28. Those Winter Sundays

29. Daddy

30. To Mother