Joyce Kilmer Poems
|2.||In Memory of Rupert Brooke||6/11/2015|
|4.||Gates and Doors||7/23/2015|
|5.||Queen Elizabeth Speaks||6/10/2016|
|6.||The Big Top||8/29/2016|
|7.||Age Comes A-Wooing||5/14/2015|
|8.||The Ballade Of Butterflies||12/13/2014|
|11.||Mid-Ocean In War-Time||1/21/2015|
|12.||The New School||11/27/2014|
|14.||Servant Girl And Grocer's Boy||12/31/2002|
|15.||The Apartment House||12/31/2002|
|16.||The Fourth Shepherd||12/31/2002|
|17.||The White Ships And The Red||12/31/2002|
|18.||To A Blackbird And His Mate Who Died In The Spring||12/31/2002|
|22.||St. Alexis, Patron Of Beggars||12/31/2002|
|23.||To Certain Poets||12/31/2002|
|24.||The Snowman In The Yard||12/31/2002|
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
The Big Top
The boom and blare of the big brass band is cheering
to my heart
And I like the smell of the trampled grass and elephants and hay.
I take off my hat to the acrobat with his delicate, strong art,
And the motley mirth of the chalk-faced clown drives all my care
I wish I could feel as they must feel, these players
brave and fair,
Who nonchalantly juggle death before a staring throng.