Aline Murray Kilmer
Biography of Aline Murray Kilmer
Aline Murray Kilmer (1 August 1888 – 1 October 1941), was an American poet, children's book author, and essayist, and the wife and widow of poet and journalist Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918).
She was born as Aline Murray on 1 August 1888 in Norfolk, Virginia. She was the daughter of Ada Foster Murray, a poet; and Kenton C. Murray, (d. 1895) editor of the Norfolk Landmark newspaper. Ada Foster Murray, remarried on 22 February 1900, in Metuchen, New Jersey to Henry Mills Alden. Henry was the managing editor of Harper's Magazine, and he became Aline's stepfather.
Aline was educated at the Rutgers College Grammar School (now Rutgers Preparatory School) in New Brunswick, New Jersey and the Vail-Deane School in Elizabeth, New Jersey the latter institution from which she was graduated in 1908Shortly after graduation, Aline married Alfred Joyce Kilmer on 9 June 1908, after he was graduated from Columbia University in New York City. The pair had five children: Kenton Sinclair Kilmer (1909-1995), Michael Barry Kilmer (1916-1927), Deborah Clanton Kilmer (1914-1999), Rose Kilburn Kilmer (1912-1917), and Christopher Kilmer (1917-1984).
Aline Kilmer died at her home, "Whitehall", in Stillwater, New Jersey, on 1 October 1941 and was interred at the Catholic Cemetery in Newton, New Jersey
Aline Murray Kilmer's Works:
* Candles That Burn (New York: George H. Doran, 1919). (poetry)
* Vigils (New York: George H. Doran, 1921). (poetry)
* Hunting a Hair Shirt and Other Spiritual Adventures (New York: George H. Doran, 1923). (essays) ISBN 0-8369-2697-8
* The Poor Kings Daughter and Other Verse (New York: George H. Doran, 1925). (poetry)
* Emmy, Nicky and Greg (New York: George H. Doran, 1927). (children's book)
* A Buttonwood Summer (Garden City, New York: Doubleday & Company, 1929). (children's book)
* Selected Poems (Garden City, New York: Doubleday & Company, 1929). (poetry)
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Aline Murray Kilmer Poems
IF I had loved you, soon, ah, soon I had lost you. Had I been kind you had kissed me and gone your faithless way.
If I Had Loved You More
IF I had loved you more God would have had pity; He would never have left me here in this desolate place,
WHY don't you go back to the sea, my dear? I am not one who would hold you; The sea is the woman you really love,
SOMETIMES when I am at tea with you I catch my breath At a thought that is old as the world is old And more bitter than death.
I'M glad I have but a little heart– For my heart is very small– It makes it free to come and go And no one cares at all.
I CAN never remake the thing I have destroyed; I brushed the golden dust from the moth's bright wing,
For All Ladies Of Shalott
THE web flew out and floated wide. Poor lady! I was with her then. She gathered up her piteous pride, But she could never weave again.
WHEN a storm comes up at night and the wind is crying, When the trees are moaning like masts on laboring ships,
The Night Cometh
MY garden walks were smooth and green And edged with box trees left and right, An old grey sun-dial stood between
A Wind Rose In The Night
A wind rose in the night, (She had always feared it so!) Sorrow plucked at my heart And I could not help but go.
The Heart Knoweth Its Own Bitterness
THE heart knoweth? If this be true indeed Then the thing that I bear in my bosom is not a heart;
The Touch Of Tears
MICHAEL walks in autumn leaves Rustling leaves and fading grasses, And his little music-box Tinkles faintly as he passes.
Tour De Force
SMILINGLY, out of my pain, I have woven a little song; You may take it away with you. I shall not sing it again,
Kenton and Deborah, Michael and Rose, These are fine children as all the world knows, But into my arms in my dreams every night
IF I had loved you, soon, ah, soon I had lost you.
Had I been kind you had kissed me and gone your faithless way.
The kiss that I would not give is the kiss that your lips are holding:
Now you are mine forever, because of all I have cost you.
You think that you are free and have given over your sighing,
You think that from my coldness your love has flown away:
But mine are the hands you shall dream that your own are holding,
And mine is the face you shall look for when you are dying.