Joyce Kilmer Poems
|3.||Age Comes A-Wooing||5/14/2015|
|4.||In Memory of Rupert Brooke||6/11/2015|
|6.||The Ballade Of Butterflies||12/13/2014|
|8.||Mid-Ocean In War-Time||1/21/2015|
|9.||The New School||11/27/2014|
|11.||The Apartment House||12/31/2002|
|12.||Servant Girl And Grocer's Boy||12/31/2002|
|13.||The Fourth Shepherd||12/31/2002|
|14.||The White Ships And The Red||12/31/2002|
|16.||To A Blackbird And His Mate Who Died In The Spring||12/31/2002|
|19.||St. Alexis, Patron Of Beggars||12/31/2002|
|20.||To Certain Poets||12/31/2002|
|21.||The Snowman In The Yard||12/31/2002|
|34.||To A Young Poet Who Killed Himself||12/31/2002|
|39.||Citizen Of The World||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.
(For Amelia Josephine Burr)
The road is wide and the stars are out
and the breath of the night is sweet,
And this is the time when wanderlust should seize upon my feet.
But I'm glad to turn from the open road and the starlight on my face,
And to leave the splendour of out-of-doors for a human dwelling place.
I never have seen a vagabond who really liked to roam