Joyce Kilmer

“ It must be fine to walk a line of silver in the air And to cleave a hundred feet of space with a gesture like a song. Sir Henry Irving never knew a keener, sweeter thrill Than that which stirs the breast of him who turns his painted face To the circling crowd who laugh aloud and clap hands with a will As a tribute to the clown who won the great wheel-barrow race. Now, one shall work in the living rock with a mallet and a knife, And another shall dance on a big white horse that canters round a ring, By another's hand shall colours stand in similitude of life ”

“ A city street that is busy and wide is ground by a thousand wheels, And a burden of traffic on its breast is all it ever feels: It is dully conscious of weight and speed and of work that never ends, But it cannot be human like Main Street, and recognise its friends. There were only about a hundred teams on Main Street in a day, And twenty or thirty people, I guess, and some children out to play. And there wasn't a wagon or buggy, or a man or a girl or a boy That Main Street didn't remember, and somehow seem to enjoy. ”

“ Love's voice is through your song; above and under And in each note to echo and remain. II Because Mankind is glad and brave and young, Full of gay flames that white and scarlet glow, All joys and passions that Mankind may know By you were nobly felt and nobly sung. Because Mankind's heart every day is wrung By Fate's wild hands that twist and tear it so, Therefore you echoed Man's undying woe, A harp Aeolian on Life's branches hung. So did the ghosts of toiling children hover About the piteous portals of your mind ”

“ The young Republic's banners smile For many a mile where troops convene. O'Connell Street is loudly sweet With strains of Wearing of the Green. The soil of Ireland throbs and glows With life that knows the hour is here To strike again like Irishmen For that which Irishmen hold dear. Lord Edward leaves his resting place And Sarsfield's face is glad and fierce. See Emmet leap from troubled sleep To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse! There is no rope can strangle song And not for long death takes his toll. No prison bars can dim the stars Nor quicklime eat the living soul. ”

“ And it was grief that made Mankind your lover, And it was grief that made you love Mankind. III Before Christ left the Citadel of Light, To tread the dreadful way of human birth, His shadow sometimes fell upon the earth And those who saw it wept with joy and fright. "Thou art Apollo, than the sun more bright!" They cried. "Our music is of little worth, But thrill our blood with thy creative mirth Thou god of song, thou lord of lyric might!" ”

“ For many a youthful shoulder now is gay with an epaulet, And the hand that was deft with a cricket-bat is defter with a sword, And some of the lads will laugh to-day where the trench is red and wet, And some will win on the bloody field the accolade of the Lord. They have taken their youth and mirth away from the study and playing-ground To a new school in an alien land beneath an alien sky; Out in the smoke and roar of the fight their lessons and games are found, And they who were learning how to live are learning how to die. ”

“ And the title of poet's a noble thing, worth living and dying for, Though all the devils on earth and in Hell spit at me their disdain. It is stern work, it is perilous work, to thrust your hand in the sun And pull out a spark of immortal flame to warm the hearts of men: But Prometheus, torn by the claws and beaks whose task is never done, Would be tortured another eternity to go stealing fire again. ”

“ Sorrow and joy, in stately silence pass Across thy walls, the shadow and the light; Around thy lofty pillars, tapers white Illuminate, with delicate sharp flames, The brows of saints with venerable names, And in the night erect a fiery wall. A great but silent fervour burns in all Those simple folk who kneel, pathetic, dumb, And know that down below, beside the Rhine — Cannon, horses, soldiers, flags in line — With blare of trumpets, mighty armies come. Suddenly, each knows fear ”

“ But since this is your august festival, Monsignore, It seems appropriate to me to state According to a venerable and agreeable custom, That I love a beautiful lady. Her eyes, Monsignore, Are so blue that they put lovely little blue reflections On everything that she looks at, Such as a wall Or the moon Or my heart. It is like the light coming through blue stained glass, Yet not quite like it, For the blueness is not transparent, Only translucent. Her soul's light shines through, But her soul cannot be seen. ”

“ When you say of the making of ballads and songs that it is woman's work You forget all the fighting poets that have been in every land. There was Byron who left all his lady-loves to fight against the Turk, And David, the Singing King of the Jews, who was born with a sword in his hand. It was yesterday that Rupert Brooke went out to the Wars and died, And Sir Philip Sidney's lyric voice was as sweet as his arm was strong; And Sir Walter Raleigh met the axe as a lover meets his bride, Because he carried in his soul the courage of his song. ”

“ He'll sit on the grass and take his ease so long as the sun is high, But when it is dark he wants a roof to keep away the sky. If you call a gypsy a vagabond, I think you do him wrong, For he never goes a-travelling but he takes his home along. And the only reason a road is good, as every wanderer knows, Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which it goes. They say that life is a highway and its milestones are the years, And now and then there's a toll-gate where you buy your way with tears. ”

“ The truck and the motor and trolley car and the elevated train They make the weary city street reverberate with pain: But there is yet an echo left deep down within my heart Of the music the Main Street cobblestones made beneath a butcher's cart. God be thanked for the Milky Way that runs across the sky, That's the path that my feet would tread whenever I have to die. Some folks call it a Silver Sword, and some a Pearly Crown, But the only thing I think it is, is Main Street, Heaventown. ”

“ The song within your heart could never rise Until love bade it spread its wings and soar. Nor could you look on Beauty's face before A poet's burning mouth had touched your eyes. Love is made out of ecstasy and wonder; Love is a poignant and accustomed pain. ”

“ The grim Titanic greeted her
⁠"And who art thou?" she said;
"Why dost thou join our ghostly fleet
⁠Arrayed in living red?
We are the ships of sorrow
⁠Who spend the weary night,
Until the dawn of Judgment Day,
⁠Obscure and still and white." ”

“ At the foot of the Cross on Calvary Three soldiers sat and diced, And one of them was the Devil And he won the Robe of Christ. When the Devil comes in his proper form To the chamber where I dwell, I know him and make the Sign of the Cross Which drives him back to Hell. And when he comes like a friendly man And puts his hand in mine, The fervour in his voice is not From love or joy or wine. And when he comes like a woman, With lovely, smiling eyes, Black dreams float over his golden head Like a swarm of carrion flies. ”

“ The fragile splendour of the level sea, The moon's serene and silver-veiled face, Make of this vessel an enchanted place Full of white mirth and golden sorcery. Now, for a time, shall careless laughter be Blended with song, to lend song sweeter grace, And the old stars, in their unending race, Shall heed and envy young humanity. ”

“ The Kings of the earth are men of might, And cities are burned for their delight, And the skies rain death in the silent night, And the hills belch death all day! But the King of Heaven, Who made them all, Is fair and gentle, and very small ”

“ Where there are thorns are roses, and I saw a line of red,
A little wreath of roses around His radiant head.
A red rose is His Sacred Heart, a white rose is His face,
And His breath has turned the barren world to a rich and flowery place. ”

“ O happy lamp! to serve Him with never ceasing light!
O happy flame! to tremble forever in His sight!
I leave the holy quiet for the loudly human train,
And my heart that He has breathed upon is filled with lonely pain. ”

“ And there will be ghosts in the old school, brave ghosts with laughing eyes, On the field with a ghostly cricket-bat, by the stream with a ghostly rod; They will touch the hearts of the living with a flame that sanctifies, A flame that they took with strong young hands from the altar-fires of God. ”

“ But for their lifetime's passion, The quest that was fruitless and long, They chorus their loud thanksgiving To the thorn-crowned Master of Song.
The Proud Poet (For Shaemas O Sheel) One winter night a Devil came and sat upon my bed, His eyes were full of laughter for his heart was full of crime. "Why don't you take up fancy work, or embroidery?" he said, "For a needle is as manly a tool as a pen that makes a rhyme!" ”

“ He spread clean straw before her Whereon she might lie down, And Jesus Christ has given him An everlasting crown. Unlock the door this evening And let your gate swing wide, Let all who ask for shelter Come speedily inside. What if your yard be narrow? What if your house be small? There is a Guest is coming Will glorify it all. There was a joyous hostler Who knelt on Christmas morn Beside the radiant manger Wherein his Lord was born. His heart was full of laughter, His soul was full of bliss When Jesus, on His Mother's lap, Gave him His hand to kiss. ”

“ Her mortal flesh bears Him Who conquers death.
Now in the dust her spirit grovelleth;
⁠Too bright a Sun before her eyes has flamed,
⁠Too fair a herald joy too high proclaimed,
And human lips have trembled in God's breath. ”

“ Saint John, pray for us, weary souls that tarry Where life is withered by sin's deadly breath. Pray for us, whom the dogs of Satan harry, Saint John, Saint Anne, and Saint Elizabeth. And, Mother Mary, give us Christ to carry Within our hearts, that we may conquer death. ”

“ When God's great voice assembles The fleet on Judgment Day, The ghosts of ruined ships will rise In sea and strait and bay. Though they have lain for ages Beneath the changeless flood, They shall be white as silver, But one — shall be like blood. ”

“ Unbar your heart this evening And keep no stranger out, Take from your soul's great portal The barrier of doubt. To humble folk and weary Give hearty welcoming, Your breast shall be to-morrow The cradle of a King. ”

“ Swift rumours pass, that every one must hear, The hostile banners blaze against the sky And by the embassies mobs rage and cry. Now war has come, and peace is at an end. On Paris town the German troops descend. They are turned back, and driven to Champagne. And now, as to so many weary men, The glorious temple gives them welcome, when It meets them at the bottom of the plain. ”

“ It is strong joy to read it when the wounds of the spirit smart, It puts the flame in a lonely breast where only ashes be. It is strong joy to read it, and to make it is a thing That exalts a man with a sacreder pride than any pride on earth. For it makes him kneel to a broken slave and set his foot on a king, And it shakes the walls of his little soul with the echo of God's mirth. "There was the poet Homer had the sorrow to be blind, Yet a hundred people with good eyes would listen to him all night ”

“ The flowers of evil blossomed everywhere,
⁠But in their midst a radiant lily came
⁠Candescent, pure, a cup of living flame,
Bloomed for a day, and left the earth more fair
And was it Charles, thy "fair and fatal King,"
⁠Who bade thee welcome to the lovely land? ”

“ Every architect will help erect A palace on a lawn of cloud, With rainbow beams and a sunset roof, And a level star-tiled floor; And at your will you may use the skill Of this gay angelic crowd, When a house is made you will throw it down, And they'll build you twenty more. ”

“ That he, with such laborious skill,
⁠Should change from rôle to rôle,
Should daily act so many a part
⁠To get my little soul?
Oh, he can be the forest,
⁠And he can be the sun,
Or a buttercup, or an hour of rest
⁠When the weary day is done. ”

“ The halls that were loud with the merry tread of young and careless feet Are still with a stillness that is too drear to seem like holiday, And never a gust of laughter breaks the calm of the dreaming street Or rises to shake the ivied walls and frighten the doves away. ”

“ O Mother of Good Counsel, lend
⁠Intelligence to me!
Encompass me with wisdom,
⁠Thou Tower of Ivory!
"This is the Man of Lies," she says,
⁠"Disguised with fearful art:
He has the wounded hands and feet,
⁠But not the wounded heart." ”

“ FOR blows on the fort of evil
⁠That never shows a breach,
For terrible life-long races
⁠To a goal no foot can reach,
For reckless leaps into darkness
⁠With hands outstretched to a star,
There is jubilation in Heaven
⁠Where the great dead poets are. ”

“ FATHER GERARD HOPKINS, S. J.
WHY didst thou carve thy speech laboriously,
⁠And match and blend thy words with curious art?
⁠For Song, one saith, is but a human heart
Speaking aloud, undisciplined and free. ”

“ The dust is on book and on empty desk, and the tennis-racquet and balls Lie still in their lonely locker and wait for a game that is never played, And over the study and lecture-room and the river and meadow falls A stern peace, a strange peace, a peace that War has made. ”