Joyce Kilmer Poems
|45.||Citizen Of The World||12/31/2002|
|47.||A Blue Valentine||12/31/2002|
|49.||Prayer Of A Soldier In France||12/31/2002|
|50.||Ballade Of My Lady's Beauty||1/4/2003|
|51.||As Winds That Blow Against A Star||12/31/2002|
|53.||The House With Nobody In It||12/31/2002|
Comments about Joyce Kilmer
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.