Aline Murray Kilmer

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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.

The thing that I am seeking
I know I shall not find;
A wistful voice is crying
This sorrow in my mind.

MY garden walks were smooth and green
And edged with box trees left and right,
An old grey sun-dial stood between

IF I had loved you more God would have had pity;
He would never have left me here in this desolate place,

I know you are too dear to stay;
You are so exquisitely sweet:
My lonely house will thrill some day
To echoes of your eager feet.

HE has taken away the things that I loved best
Love and youth and the harp that knew my hand.
Laughter alone is left of all the rest.

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.

WHEN a storm comes up at night and the wind is crying,
When the trees are moaning like masts on laboring ships,

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.

SMILINGLY, out of my pain,
I have woven a little song;
You may take it away with you.
I shall not sing it again,

AND now it is all to be done over again,
And what will come of it only God can know.
What has become of the furrows ploughed by pain,

A wind rose in the night,
(She had always feared it so!)
Sorrow plucked at my heart
And I could not help but go.

Kenton and Deborah, Michael and Rose,
These are fine children as all the world knows,
But into my arms in my dreams every night


I CAN never remake the thing I have destroyed;
I brushed the golden dust from the moth's bright wing,

SOME learn it in their youth,
Some after bitter years:
There is no escape from the truth
Though we drown in our tears.

THERE is no Rachel any more
And so it does not really matter.
Leah alone is left, and she
Goes her own way inscrutably.

ALL my life I have loved where I was not loved,
And always those whom I did not love loved me;
Only the God who made my wild heart knows

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,

THE barberry bright, the barberry bright!
It stood on the mantelpiece because of the height.
Its stems were slender and thorny and tall

I HAVE a harp of many strings
But two are enough for me:
One is for love and one for death;
And what would the third one be?

Aline Murray Kilmer Biography

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)

The Best Poem Of Aline Murray Kilmer


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.

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