Museum of Childhood Ireland
Músaem Óige na hÉireann
📚 Poems of the Built Environment 🏛️
Classic Poems About Architecture, Doors & City Life
🚪 Doors, Thresholds & Passages
The Door
by Miroslav Holub (1923-1998)
Go and open the door.
Maybe outside there’s
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.
Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.
Go and open the door.
If there’s a fog
it will clear.
Go and open the door.
Even if there’s only
the darkness ticking,
even if there’s only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.
At least
there’ll be
a draught.
Maybe outside there’s
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.
Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.
Go and open the door.
If there’s a fog
it will clear.
Go and open the door.
Even if there’s only
the darkness ticking,
even if there’s only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.
At least
there’ll be
a draught.
About this poem: Holub was a Czech poet who wrote about the power of doors as symbols of possibility and courage. This poem encourages us to be brave and explore what lies beyond our familiar spaces – perfect for young people thinking about their future!
Doors
by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)
Doors of the workshops broken and falling,
torn from tall hinges and stripped of paint,
Doors of the cold stranger’s heart
Swing in the wind of winter and fear.
torn from tall hinges and stripped of paint,
Doors of the cold stranger’s heart
Swing in the wind of winter and fear.
About this poem: Sandburg, famous for his poems about Chicago, often wrote about industrial America. This short excerpt shows how doors can represent both physical and emotional barriers – notice how he connects broken workshop doors to human hearts.
from “The Guest House”
by Rumi (1207-1273)
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
About this poem: Though written 800 years ago, Rumi’s metaphor of the human heart as a house with doors that welcome all visitors still speaks to us today. He uses architecture to help us understand emotions!
🚪 Door Poetry Activity
Choose a door you pass every day – your front door, school door, or a shop entrance. Write about what that door has “seen” and what stories it might tell. What emotions does it welcome in and out?
🍀 Irish Poets on Place & Architecture
Dublin
by Louis MacNeice (1907-1963)
Grey brick upon brick,
Declamatory bronze
On sombre pedestals—
O’Connell, Grattan, Moore—
And the brewery tugs and the swans
On the balustraded stream
And the bare bones of a fanlight
Over a hungry door
And the air soft on the cheek
And porter running from the taps
With a head of yellow cream
And Nelson on his pillar
Watching his world collapse.
Declamatory bronze
On sombre pedestals—
O’Connell, Grattan, Moore—
And the brewery tugs and the swans
On the balustraded stream
And the bare bones of a fanlight
Over a hungry door
And the air soft on the cheek
And porter running from the taps
With a head of yellow cream
And Nelson on his pillar
Watching his world collapse.
About this poem: MacNeice was born in Belfast and captures Dublin’s Georgian architecture beautifully – notice his mention of “the bare bones of a fanlight over a hungry door” – exactly the architectural details we’ve been learning about!
from “The Great Hunger”
by Patrick Kavanagh (1904-1967)
The door of his house opened and a card-party spilled out
Keening over the threshold
That was his life, that was his life,
And they trampled over him.
Keening over the threshold
That was his life, that was his life,
And they trampled over him.
About this poem: Kavanagh, from rural Ireland, often wrote about thresholds and doorways as symbolic spaces where life’s important moments happen. The “threshold” here represents a boundary between inside and outside, private and public life.
Houses
by Eavan Boland (1944-2020)
I am walking through streets
where every second house
is for sale.
The auctioneer’s signs
spring up like seedlings
after rain.
I stop at one:
a Georgian house,
its windows
boarded up,
its door-knocker
green with age,
its railings
rusted into
gapped teeth.
where every second house
is for sale.
The auctioneer’s signs
spring up like seedlings
after rain.
I stop at one:
a Georgian house,
its windows
boarded up,
its door-knocker
green with age,
its railings
rusted into
gapped teeth.
About this poem: Boland was one of Ireland’s most important modern poets. Here she describes the decay and change in Dublin’s Georgian architecture, noting the “door-knocker green with age” and “railings rusted into gapped teeth” – making architecture feel alive and vulnerable.
“Architecture is frozen music” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
These Irish poets help us hear the music in Dublin’s stones and iron!
These Irish poets help us hear the music in Dublin’s stones and iron!
🇮🇪 Irish Architecture Poetry
Take a walk through your Irish town or city. Notice one architectural detail that catches your eye – a fanlight, a door knocker, iron railings. Write a short poem about it in the style of these Irish poets, focusing on how it makes you feel.
🏙️ City Streets & Urban Life
City
by Langston Hughes (1902-1967)
In the morning the city
Spreads its wings
Making a song
In stone that sings.
In the evening the city
Goes to bed
Hanging lights
About its head.
Spreads its wings
Making a song
In stone that sings.
In the evening the city
Goes to bed
Hanging lights
About its head.
About this poem: Hughes, a key figure in the Harlem Renaissance, often wrote about urban life. Notice how he makes the city seem alive – with wings, songs, and the ability to sleep. This is called personification, giving human qualities to non-human things.
from “Chicago”
by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
About this poem: This is one of the most famous poems about a city ever written. Sandburg doesn’t hide Chicago’s problems, but he celebrates its strength. Notice his reference to “gas lamps” – the Victorian street lighting we learned about!
Acquainted with the Night
by Robert Frost (1874-1963)
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
About this poem: Though Frost is famous for nature poems, this urban poem shows the loneliness possible in cities. Notice the “watchman on his beat” – like the lamplighter we learned about, and the “luminary clock” – architecture that marks time in the cityscape.
🌃 Night Walk Poetry
These poets wrote about cities at different times of day. Go for a walk in your neighborhood at dusk (with an adult!). What changes do you notice? How do street lights, house windows, and shadows transform the familiar architecture?
🏠 Home, Shelter & Belonging
The House on the Hill
by Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935)
They are all gone away,
The House is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.
Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away.
Nor is there one to-day
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.
Why is it then we stray
Around the sunken sill?
They are all gone away,
And our poor fancy-play
For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.
There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill:
They are all gone away,
There is nothing more to say.
The House is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.
Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away.
Nor is there one to-day
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.
Why is it then we stray
Around the sunken sill?
They are all gone away,
And our poor fancy-play
For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.
There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill:
They are all gone away,
There is nothing more to say.
About this poem: Robinson wrote about abandoned houses and what they represent – lost lives, memories, and time’s passage. Notice the “sunken sill” and “broken walls” – architectural details that tell human stories.
from “The Death of the Hired Man”
by Robert Frost (1874-1963)
“Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in.”
“I should have called it
Something you somehow haven’t to deserve.”
They have to take you in.”
“I should have called it
Something you somehow haven’t to deserve.”
About this poem: This famous definition of “home” from Frost shows that home isn’t just a building – it’s about belonging and acceptance. The architecture matters less than the love inside.
My House
by Nikki Giovanni (1943-)
i only want to
be there to kiss you
as you want to be kissed
when you need to be kissed
where i want to be kissed
by you where you want to kiss me
which is
in my house
be there to kiss you
as you want to be kissed
when you need to be kissed
where i want to be kissed
by you where you want to kiss me
which is
in my house
About this poem: Giovanni, an important African American poet, shows how “home” becomes precious when filled with love. The physical space matters because of the relationships it shelters.
🏡 My Home Poem
Write about your own home or a place where you feel you belong. What architectural details make it special? Is it the creaky step, the way light comes through a window, or the sound the door makes when it closes? Focus on the physical details that make it your space.