Joyce Kilmer Poems
|2.||In Memory of Rupert Brooke||6/11/2015|
|3.||Gates and Doors||7/23/2015|
|4.||Queen Elizabeth Speaks||6/10/2016|
|5.||The Big Top||8/29/2016|
|8.||Age Comes A-Wooing||5/14/2015|
|9.||The Ballade Of Butterflies||12/13/2014|
|11.||The New School||11/27/2014|
|12.||Mid-Ocean In War-Time||1/21/2015|
|14.||The Apartment House||12/31/2002|
|15.||Servant Girl And Grocer's Boy||12/31/2002|
|16.||The Fourth Shepherd||12/31/2002|
|17.||The White Ships And The Red||12/31/2002|
|20.||To Certain Poets||12/31/2002|
|21.||St. Alexis, Patron Of Beggars||12/31/2002|
|22.||To A Blackbird And His Mate Who Died In The Spring||12/31/2002|
|23.||The Snowman In The Yard||12/31/2002|
|35.||To A Young Poet Who Killed Himself||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.
When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
And barnyard voices shrilling "It is day!"
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.